


The Void in All Things

by Soggy_Bottom_Boys



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-15 16:59:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 42,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3454844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soggy_Bottom_Boys/pseuds/Soggy_Bottom_Boys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some backstory to lend credence to decisions made and events that came about in DA:Inquisition. Am trying to play around with the possibility that Trevelyan knew Cullen long before the events in Inquisition. I intend to take this history through into familiar events in the game. I have also taken certain liberties with Stroud's in-game character, which deviate slightly from canon. Major plot points are maintained, and it's with filler material where I've let my imagination wander. This is my first romance-heavy fic, so go easy on me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beresaad

**Chapter 1 - Beresaad  
**

**Prologue**

The man remained eerily quiet as he trudged behind the powerful being before him. Occasionally he would glance up at his companion, scrutinize the deep scars, taut shoulder muscles and menacing battle axe slung over his back. But then his eyes lost their focus and meaning for looking, which caused him to lower his gaze. It was easier to fixate on the immediate; finding surer footing through the rocky paths they trod upon. It was easier to do anything but think.

The Qunari did not care to turn around and observe his comrade. But he was well aware of what the man had lost and of the aftermath of emotions. Such skills of emotional perception were common amongst his people, especially within the _Ben-Hassrath_ – subtle facial expressions, changes in demeanor, deviations from the norm, these were all valuable tools with which to extract information. However, most skilled in the art were able to detach themselves from the ripple-effect of such fallibilities.

He was not.

While the mind and body were one, fighting in mental and physical synchrony against enemies of the Qun, everything reduced itself to its elemental fragments. Love, anxiety, doubt, fear – each powerful emotions in their own right – yielded to the simplicity that was survival. It brought him a brief but much-needed peace. There were quieter moments too, while he was sharpening his weapons, preparing reports for his commanders, when he would direct his mind to shine on the duty before him. But these were harder to control as there was no immediate danger to serve as a distraction. Sometimes duty would bring him his peace, and other times it wouldn't.

Today, he wasn't going to be so lucky.

"There is nothing you can do for them." he said, not turning around.

The man remained silent.

"When you become Viddathari, you will see the truth in this. Lay the past to rest. Take from it what you can learn, and use it to serve the Qun."

The man let out a barely audible sigh.

The subtle despondency did not escape his notice. He grudgingly turned around. The Qunari faced his companion but failed to meet his eyes. He stared instead at the sinking sun behind the mountains. The pain of such brightness was preferable to what he would endure should he acknowledge what gazed back at him.

"I...am grateful. But you should have let me die." said the man.

"Were you useless to the Qun, I would have. But you fight like an Atashi."

"What would that be?"

"The Dragons of old. You fought harder than a man who simply wants to survive."

"I was fighting for my family. I failed."

The Qunari's gaze finally settled on the grieving man. He studied the pitiable being before him with piercing violet eyes, at a loss for words. Another of his race would have acknowledged the futility of the situation and proceeded with duty, but a stirring within his heart held him in place. His mind searched for words from the Qun. Words to meant to instill strength and purpose. But such phrases felt hollow, and it was this dearth that kept him frozen in place. He was wise enough to recognize that the man needed kindness and comfort, but the Qun offered little in that regard.

"We should keep going. We need to place a league or two more between our pursuers." And that was all he could manage.

* * *

The clifftop overlooked the docks, and lantern lights from seaside homes, taverns, and boats illuminated the water with ever-changing reflections. Waves of melancholy music carried on the wind made its way in their direction. The man studied the procession of people and watched as they carefully laid what was obviously a corpse in a slender boat. A few men held lit torches and remained still as a lament for the dead issued forth from one of their own.

"I thought Free-Marchers don't burn their dead," remarked the Qunari as he watched the unfolding event alongside his companion.

A soft breeze stirred through the conifers and caressed their faces.

"They don't." replied the man. "This is unusual."

"Unusual – how?"

"The colour of the banner on the boat – it symbolizes nobility. Nobles can afford to bury their dead. They don't have to endure the guilt of burying their loved ones in unmarked graves. Or leaving them to be burned by those who murdered them."

The Qunari swallowed. "I am sorry that you were robbed of giving them peace."

The procession by the docks below began to move. Wielded torches were lowered to the oil-soaked hay that lay beneath the body. Someone untied the boats moorings, and three people pushed the small boat into deeper waters. Within a matter of a few minutes the flames had formed a wall of fire that obscured that which it contained within.

"What good is believing in the Maker when He refuses to listen or help?"

"The Qun can offer – "

The man shook his head in annoyance. " _No_. Not now. I acknowledge the Qun. But no religion, no being or deity, could comfort me now. The Tevinters took away the little happiness I have." He turned to face his comrade; eyes watering with misery and fury. "But I will take this for myself. My grief and my vengeance are my due. I will have it, and no one, not the Qun or the bastard Tevinters can rob that of me."

The Qunari paused, wanting desperately to walk away, but a compelling guilt prodded him knowingly. "I know that the Qun can't –"

" _Please_ , Asogen. Let me mourn."

"Let me finish." he insisted. "The Qun seldom provides kindness. We have to take that from wisdom that we procure from events such as these. I...do not know any of my people who have not lost their comrades to death. We do not struggle to understand it. We accept it. Life is not about getting what you deserve. Death is an inevitability, just as a storm comes to be, or the sun rises to shine."

"That must be easy for you." said the man, who made no effort to conceal his bitterness.

"It…isn't. The words of the Qun have been etched into my memory, but they often fail to reach my..." Asogen's voice haltered.

His companions eyes looked up at him. "Your soul?" he finished for him.

"My Asala. Yes."

"Doesn't this set you apart from the rest of your kith and kin? Wouldn't they burn you alive for these ideals?"

"My thoughts have not yet evolved into ideals. And no, I would not be burned alive for them. A senseless death is for you humans to accomplish."

For the first time in a long time, the man smiled. It was a grim imitation of one, but it counted nonetheless. "I disagree. You may understand more than most. Maybe even more than you realize."

The crowd below began to scatter, slowly but surely. The man crossed his arms and nodded in the direction of the funereal gathering. "My wife once worked for them, you know. The man they mourn is a Bann. Bann Trevelyan. He was a good man."

"All men are remembered kindly after death," reflected Asogen.

"He might be one of the few exceptions. He was loyal to the people. He never extended his reach yet managed to aid those who others of his rank would be content to ignore. He was good to my wife and my children."

"How did he die?"

"I believe he was ill for a while, actually. Despite his sickness, however, he led a small company of men to secure land that was stolen by the Tevinter. I'm not sure how truthful this account is, but it doesn't seem out-of-character for him. He was struck in battle and although he made it home, he wasn't able to pull though."

"The Tevinter have much to answer for." remarked Asogen. "But...then again, so do my people."

"But aren't your actions justified by the Qun?"

Asogen let out a deep laugh. He seemed surprised by his own reaction as he shook his head. "If you train your mind to adhere to such contrived ideals, _anything_ is justifiable. Look at your Chantry. See how they ensnare and confine with offers of aid and guilt. See how they teach you never to question. They replace free thought with a sense of familial belonging. And it is this _belonging_ that keeps you mired in their ways. Not to mention that this is not the least of the freedoms they ask of you."

"But doesn't the Qun teach the same?"

"Oh, the Qun is no exception. What it comes down to, my friend, is which one allows you to sleep better at night. Which is the lesser of the two evils. Having that choice is a luxury, and that is why I offer it to you. There are many among my brothers and sisters who would have slain you had you refused to become Viddathari."

The man sighed and rubbed his brow wearily. "I...I see."

Asogen studied his companion for a few moments. "No you don't. You are too overwhelmed with grief to give much thought to philosophical musings. In time, the grief will lessen and you will consider well what I have said. Do not commit to the Qun unless you are absolutely sure. But let's take one step at a time. We need to rest. Your pursuers may have given up the chase, but that is not a chance I'm willing to take. We should leave for Kirkwall as soon as the sun rises."

They turned towards their Spartan campsite, made various preparations for sleep and lay down.

The world began to sleep with them. The water from the sea below crashed rhythmically against the steep cliffs. The sound was welcome and soothing. The moon shone in its full glory as bats tittered alongside crickets in the vegetation above.

A few moments later, a twig snapped in the distance, the noise reverberating against the nighttime quiet. A minute later, softer sounds issued from beyond them.

Asogen sat up quickly. He reached for his axe and brought it to his side. With his other hand he began to open up a small poultice. He dabbed its contents on a rag and rubbed the piece of cloth along the sharp contours of his weapon.

"What is it?" asked his companion.

"It could be the wildlife," he replied, attempting to sound confident.

"But it's not, is it..."

"Your wildlife is too silent."

The man pricked up his ears. The Qunari was right. The crickets chirped no more and the noisome bats seem to have ceased all activity.

Asogen spoke in a low, clear voice. "There is a large rock by the cliff's edge. Get behind it and stay hidden. Once they're distracted, head north. Should I get killed, make for Kirkwall. If you still wish to give yourself to the Qun, speak with the Arishok there."

"I won't leave you to die."

"Us both being dead gains us nothing. And where will your vengeance lie then?"

"You think these are Tevinter?" he asked as he crouched towards Asogen's position.

"Yes and no."

"What do you mean?"

"Tevinter do not move so silently. I would have sensed them sooner. Perhaps these are sellswords – warriors and rogues who've been retained by the highest bidder. Either way, they're well trained to move this quietly. And if they can do so, chances are that they are flanking us right at this very moment."

The man hesitated.

Asogen gave up all efforts at concealment as a figure broke through the foliage before them. "NOW!" he cried to his companion. He raised his axe and tensed his muscles, coiled and ready to strike.

"Ataash varin kata, Basalit-An!" he bellowed into the night, "Come meet my steel!"

At once, several fighters fell upon him. Metal met metal and cries of bravery and pain pierced the night. Asogen's companion peered around the rock. The moon snuck behind a cloud and all he could see was a great silhouette of moving forms; a dark, contorting beast of fury. His friend's imposing and recognizable form was nowhere to be seen.

Then, suddenly, as a drowning man who struggles for air breaks through the water's surface, Asogen broke free of his swarming enemies. He swung his battle axe in whirling arcs, scattering to the ground those who were unprepared for its blade.

His friend gazed, stupefied and transfixed by this display of strength. A small part of him felt compelled to help, and he even made one step in that direction, when he saw the Qunari stumble forward. One of his attackers seized the moment and brought his sword to the Qunari's helm. Asogen staggered but kept himself from falling down with his hand. But then another flung something towards the Qunari, and as the clouds parted, he could see that they were attempting to tie a rope around Asogen's neck. One the noose was in place, two people tugged hard. But he still did not fall. He jerked his head back, causing one of his attackers holding the rope to let go of their grip. The remaining group then took to assaulting his newly exposed flank with blades.

There were too many of them. Asogen would not last much longer. He should flee. But the Qunari had saved his life. His heart pounded heavily in his chest.

In the midst of his indecision, something flew through the air, missing his ear by a few inches. With a resounding thwack, one of the attackers went motionless. Another thwack and a second one fell. The man looked around in bewilderment. Where once he was panicked, he now grew confused. Was someone helping them?

"Get them, Bunty!" came a voice from a copse of trees by the cliff's edge.

A stocky, four-legged animal snarled as it roared past him, and was soon followed by a diminutive figure who cried out with almost as much furor as Asogen had minutes before. He saw now that it was a child and a young Mabari hound. A hound named Bunty. It seemed utterly ridiculous. So thoroughly unexpected that, given more time, he would have had to laugh in spite of it all.

The child was nimble and launched himself on top of one of Asogen's attackers. He took out a small blade that glinted in the moonlight before plunging it deep into the assailant's shoulder. The dog growled menacingly as it held on with a vice-like grip onto their enemy's trousered leg.

In the time that the child and his dog brought Asogen, the Qunari quickly removed the rope around his neck. He fought with renewed fervor; thrusting, hacking and parrying the assaults of the recently-demoralized group. His movements were frighteningly elegant for so large a being. He was quick too, and seemed attuned to all the swift activity around him. He even caught the boy as he fell off the back of an attacker, and propped him back up to return to the fight.

Together, the three made short work of their enemies. Asogen moved around slowly but purposefully, as he surveyed the area for any remaining danger.

"That was...unexpected." he said finally, as he walked towards the child.

The child gazed back up at him, and the man saw the Qunari abruptly come to a stop. But the gesture was so perfunctory that he couldn't be sure that it had happened at all.

"You fight well." said Asogen to the boy. "How old are you?"

"You are in my book." began the boy. "Do you use poison on your blade?"

"Your book?" asked Asogen, perplexed.

" _A Compiled History of the Occupied North_ , if you're asking. But I suppose that's more acceptable reading and we all know how approved text suffers from a tremendous lack of detail, not to mention truth. They don't paint a pretty picture of the Qunari, I'll tell you that much. Especially with the recently-arrived Arishok in Kirkwall. Scholars are clamoring – literally falling over themselves – to write addendums to newer versions of text, and well...your image just goes downhill from there."

"Parshaara!" exclaimed Asogen. "What on earth are you on about?"

The boy bent down to scratch his panting Mabari behind the ears. "It doesn't really matter. But seeing as how I saved your life, perhaps you'd grant me some of your time? I...well, I want to know more about you. History has not allowed the Qunari to speak for themselves, and all they have extracted from your people is that you have a predisposition towards violence. It could have something to do with your religion, but that would be a very simple-minded viewpoint."

"Evangeline?" the man finally emerged from behind cover and walked slowly towards the child.

"You know this... _creature_?" questioned Asogen, as he gestured towards their new companion.

"I...yes. She was seven when my wife worked for the Trevelyans." And then, to Evangeline, "I thought you were Chasind! Some runaway boy who lives in the wild! But what are you doing here? Your father's dead. Were you not at his funeral?"

The girl remained silent.

"Your mother must be worried sick."

"No. They have been giving her sleeping draughts. She sleeps the pain away." she said, more quietly this time.

"What about your sisters? Surely they must be missing you by now?"

Silence.

"Fine. Whatever the reason, you have to go home now. You can't remain here. It's not safe." He tried to sound forceful, but the events of the past few days were taking its toll on him. "I'll take you back home."

"No, you won't." said Asogen. "The Tevinter were willing to pay good coin for those mercenaries. They will not give up their hunt for you now. You should leave Ostwick immediately, and don't wait for the dawn. I'll take the child home."

"They're just as likely to come after you after all the aid you've given me." he argued. "Especially this manner of aid," he remarked, waving his hand loosely at the many unconscious and dead that lay on the ground.

"That is a risk I'm willing to take."

"So we're to part ways, then? Just like that?"

Asogen looked from his companion to the girl, studying her. The child gazed with quiet but keen interest in the ongoing conversation. "Perhaps I will make my way to Kirkwall in a few months. Perhaps we will meet again there."

"I...Asogen. Thank you. For everything. I'm not one for goodbyes."

The Qunari nodded. "Nor should you be. Given the circumstances."

The pair shook hands, and parted.


	2. Imekari

**Imekari**

 

The path to her home was shorter than she had remembered.

"You should come in and meet my sisters," she suggested.

Asogen looked at her quizzically. He held a rag that had now been properly soaked in his own blood against his temple. "I don't make the prettiest of pictures, girl."

Her mouth broke into a wide, yet quite captivating, grin. "I think you're wonderful."

His eyes twinkled in amusement. "I considerably doubt that your sisters will share your appreciation." He tried to appear stern but failed miserably. What was it about this child that molded stoic resolve into gentle acquiescence? "But...I appreciate the sentiment nonetheless."

"You're so different." she remarked suddenly.

"Different? From what? One of your historical texts?"

"I suppose."

"What do your texts say about me?"

"They simultaneously praise your resolve and fear your determination. But that description applies solely to the Qunari race. You? You're not like them at all. You're – "

Asogen looked at her sternly. For whatever reason, it seemed to have silenced the girl. "I am...who I am." he said purposefully. "We do not seek to be idolized. Nor replaced."

"Replaced?" she mouthed, no sound escaping her lips.

"You lost a father. This loss is new. Recent. I cannot fill that void."

The girl stepped back as if dealt a blow. An eternity of moments ensued. "I don't seek to replace him. No one can."

"But you are clearly searching for something."

"You're Ben-Hassrath. You've studied a myriad of facial expressions so as to glean information from –"

"And you, child, are nothing but a walking book. You recite observation followed by diatribe. The world does not lie in a book. And closure does not sit within someone you've just met. You must seek your kin for that kind of validity."

The girl's eyes narrowed. She took a step forward – a contrasting and diminutive figure against that strength and power that the Qunari before her endowed. "My _mother_ ," she couldn't help but say the word with a certain degree of malice, "would be content with drowning so long as she had an audience. She sits, at this very moment, in her armchair surrounded by concerned relatives. Relatives who have mattered to her more than her own children."

"Your mother is grieving. Not many are afforded that luxury – she should accept it. And you should not begrudge her that."

"Her _pedigree_ of relatives consists of various alcohols and sleeping draughts. Even prior to my father's death, she sought to drown herself in her own manifestations of sorrow. I...I have no sympathy for her."

Asogen said nothing for a while. He moved forward and placed a hand on the child's shoulder. He half-expected her to flinch. Not too long ago, he had done the same to an orphan in Denerim. The boy had fled in terror faster than he could have blinked. But this child had her feet firmly planted on the ground, and she looked steadfastly up at him as he did so. And those eyes. They were violet. Like his own. Like his own offspring.

Her eyes stung briefly. She swiped away the moisture quickly and shrugged his hand away from her shoulder. "I'm not asking for your sympathy. I'm thirteen years old and quite aware of the manipulations of this world. Yes, I may be a walking piece of history text. But that is because I have nothing from which to draw comparison to. Until you stepped forward, I have had to steal time with books that I was forbidden to read. I want to learn. Teach me about the Qun. Teach me about your people. Teach me how to fight like you do."

"You wish to hurt people? To kill them? To bend them to your will?" Asogen asked. In truth, his questions were a test. Many who wished to partake of the Qun's teachings desired power. In achieving this power, they assumed that religious justification would remove the burden of responsibility from their shoulders. They could never have been more wrong.

She looked shocked. "I…no. I don't wish to take someone's life. It is never going to be mine to take. I do, however, want to know things. About your culture, your way of thinking."

"Do you tire so quickly of your own?"

She took a deep breath before replying. "You want it all on the table? _Fine_. The Maker is nothing but a fairy tale. I'll admit, it is a comforting and captivating one, but it is a fairy tale nonetheless. I'm the youngest of four children. I will not be following in my father's footsteps. I will not inherit the family estate. I will not be an envoy. At best, I will be sent for Templar training or to the Chantry. Both denominations of which require one to believe in the Maker. I don't believe in the Maker. I am also not accustomed to going against my nature. It would...it would kill me."

Asogen took a step back and massaged his sore arm. The child was an enigma. She spoke with the wisdom of an Arishok and then countered that wisdom with that of infantile understanding. She was Ensaam-Ra. It was as if an ancient being was placed within the body of a child, with the limitations thereof. Fragments of ancient knowledge would shine through, but they could only be interpreted with the limited understanding of the inexperienced.

"What exactly are you asking of me, girl?"

She tore her gaze away from him. "I have no father. I never had a mother. Don't give me sympathy for my predicament. It just is. I look now to history, to warriors and those who would be heroes. Perhaps it's time I forged my own path. Wherever that may take me."

And it was at this moment, when he looked upon her with softness in his eyes and a degree of familiarity to which he was not accustomed. Amongst his own, he would be concerned about that which his eyes revealed. But with this child, everything felt pure and innocent. It felt untainted. For the first time in a long time, he didn't care if the Qunari took note.

He relented. Far too easily. "From what you spoke of earlier, I take it your mother would not mind me educating you in the ways of the Qun...?

Evangeline chuckled. "Oh. She's not _that_ inebriated. But I could make her see the light. Give me a few weeks. I'll talk her round."

* * *

**Six months later**

Ultimately, cowardice had gotten the better of her, and she had only asked for permission to be trained by a retired Chevalier. She had felt that this fictitious warrior - whose experience she embellished with considerable enjoyment - would have been more acceptable than the imposing figure of Asogen and what he represented. Her mother acquiesced without much of a fuss. After all, the child's father had seen no problem with teaching her himself.

"I can't move with this damned contraption on!"

"Just hold still and let me tighten the arms," said Asogen as he grabbed the leather buckle around her pauldrons and adjusted the straps.

"You fight with so little armor. Teach me to do the same."

"I can take a hit. If someone were to hit you with the same force, you would return home with many a broken bone. If you would return at all."

She made a face; in mocking mimicry of his own. Outwardly, Asogen did nothing but acknowledge it. Inwardly, he couldn't help but smile. It was not too far in the past when one of...his own...had given way to petulance and the emotions that accompanied adolescence.

"I hate it when you're grim." said Evangeline. Several beads of sweat trickled down the side of her narrow face.

"Battle is grim. War is grim. You want me to teach you to fight? No one goes into battle with a cheerful disposition. Stop squirming."

"I want to do more than just fight – _ow!_ "

Asogen scowled. "Would you prefer it if I tied pillows to your person instead?"

"Sarcasm doesn't become you."

"Then stand still and let me put your armor on. _Properly._ "

* * *

They practiced well into the night. It was a luxury, having this much time to learn from him. After being schooled by a string of tutors at home, and for several hours at a time, she would be fortunate to have even a few hours to learn all the knowledge that her new Qunari friend had to impart.

It was arduous, draining and often painful – Asogen had warned her of this at the beginning. The Qun assesses one's abilities at a very young age, he had said. If you are charismatic and skilled at gathering knowledge and passing it on to others, you would be trained to teach amongst the Qunari and uphold the Qun. If you were silver-tongued and proficient at procuring and selling goods, you would be instructed to live your life as a merchant. In this way, everyone has purpose in their servitude to the Qun.

In the beginning, despite her alleged interests in learning how to fight, Evangeline secretly wished to be a scholar. Not one of the stuffy sages that strolled through the Trevelyan library. An authentic educator. One who had traveled, and witnessed…one who had partaken of traditions of which he had personally endured.

For a time, Asogen had humoured her. He had sat patiently as she flipped through pages of text and questioned...no, interrogated him, for certain truths. She was wily, and never asked the same question twice. She would approach it from a different angle, so as to ascertain that his knowledge was not a lie. He was fully aware of what she was doing and allowed her to follow through. Ultimately, however, Evangeline was no interrogator. She was no spy. Her flair for subtly had reached a limit, and that limit was Asogen's perception. Perhaps she would, as initially proposed, make an excellent educator instead. But she had little patience for those who did not comprehend and retreated to deep wells of silence if asked the same question more than twice.

What she excelled at was fighting. And while he felt quite inadequate as a moral educator, he was well aware of her skills and knew how to polish her into a warrior worthy of the Qun.

The raw talent of the girl had shocked him. It had taken him quite by surprise that day on the cliffs. She fought with a ferocity that mirrored his. It had taken him some time to comprehend that the reasons behind her fervor were similar to his own. They both – despite an age gap of several decades – were fleeing from something they were never prepared to acknowledge. Asogen dodged the stoic dogma of the Qun. Questions of conscience plagued him relentlessly. It was only in battle or duty that he could avoid it. An underlying sense of guilt – her abandonment of her duties towards her family – pursued Evangeline. If she was truly a good daughter, she would have relinquished much to attend to the welfare of her family. Instead, she resorted to stealing away from her kin, in order to chase after knowledge that would otherwise be denied her.

And so time pressed on, as both parties partook in the lies and truths that were awarded them, and took solace in the friendship and company of each other.

* * *

**Four years later**

"Imagine my horror when the Viscounts daughter stumbled upon this! Pictures of half-nude demons!"

Evangeline remained frozen in place. She had anticipated outbursts such as these years before. She was not entirely truthful when it came to her schooling with the Qunari. She had quite the silver tongue when it came to her mother, and had succeeded in making her believe that she was merely studying the traditions of the Qunari, well-known to be a difficult race, in preparations to be take on an ambassadorial role on behalf of the Trevelyans. She was adept at covering up bruises, welts and gouges that she had earned during her combat practice with Asogen. So good in fact that she had neglected to cover up other pieces of evidence that would betray her true intent.

And now, her mother had stumbled upon observations of Qunari life that she had learned from Asogen.

She tried to downplay the entire outburst. "These are Qunari, mother. Many of them do not wear chest armor. I was merely trying to catalog different races –"

"Don't tell me about Qunari, child. I am an educated woman. I am well aware of all the races in Thedas."

"I didn't presume to – "

"Have I failed? Have I failed as a mother so that you would turn to such fickle...amusements?"

Evangeline took in a deep breath. Asogen had often referred to this emotion of hers as the raging bull. He had commented, with considerable amusement, on her flaring nostrils. _One look at the steam coming out of your ears_ , he had said, _and I would know precisely what makes you tick. I would use that to my advantage. Don't let them have that_.

She clenched her fists and look down at the ridiculous shoes that she had been made to wear.

"No, mother. You haven't failed. The fault is my own."

"Has Huron been allowing you to fill your head with this drivel?" She shook Evangeline's journal in the air with menace.

"No, mother." Her voice switched to monotone. "I am solely to blame."

Her mother's gaze softened somewhat and she stepped forward. In a rare moment of tenderness, she cupped her hand around her daughter's face. "You know what the Viscountess said to me the other day?"

Evangeline shrugged her shoulders in limited curiousity.

"She said that my youngest could be so pretty. So beautiful. If only she tried. Why did you have to go and cut your hair so short, Evangeline?" Her mother gently traced the shortened, spiky hair.

Evangeline stood up suddenly, almost knocking over the side table next to her. "I'm not sure if you have noticed yet, but Annette has received five proposals, Claudia has received six and Elena – four. I, dear Mother, have received none. Not a one. I repel boys, but I'm not going to sit here and feel sorry for myself. In fact, I'm glad of it. There is so much more to life than dolling yourself up. Just think about it. It's a facade to hide who you truly are. As are these soirees. It's all well and good if you enjoy that sort of thing, but it's just not... _me_. And I'm okay with that."

Her mother stepped back. Her face grew taut and her lips thinned. "You speak with the constrained knowledge of youth. We do not choose our station in life. We are born into it. And with it come certain obligations and responsibilities. This Salon is very important to me. We will be entertaining visitors from across Thedas, and we must keep up good appearances. I don't want them to think of you as a representative of Free Marchers. Especially dressed as you are."

"Then let me sit this one out." she pleaded.

"Absolutely not. You can play the man all you wish on your own time, but you are a Trevelyan. You will act the Lady when duty calls for you. I did it at your age, and your sisters do so now. Why must you be the exception?"

Evangeline scowled but could not reply. She herself had no answer.

"I don't expect you to understand," said her mother coolly. "But I do expect you to play a role. We are Trevelyans. And we do not shirk our obligations. Now straighten yourself out. Our guests will arrive this evening and there is much to do yet."

She attempted to soften the reprimand with a wan smile towards her youngest and then walked away; the thick skirt of her dress bustling behind her.


	3. Swooping is Bad

**Swooping is Bad**

 

Evangeline scrambled through the brush in haste. Why did her mother have such poor timing? And why did she have to be cursed with harebrained inattentiveness? Scheduling two weighty events on the same day? What an imbecile. She should have told Asogen that this test could wait another day. But he was to return to Kirkwall briefly and had delayed his journey for her. It would be thoughtless and unkind to make him wait. Her conscience jabbed at her ability to feel for the Qunari more than her own mother.

 _It's just that Mother is so_ _ **different**_ , she thought to herself. So were her siblings. They were better suited to be Orlesian courtiers whereas Evangeline would have preferred scooping up horse manure than participating in the political machinations of such distinguished soirees. _Now_ , spoke her conscience, _that was unfair_. Her sisters were her only friends. To clump them together with other with hollow-minded bootlickers was a little too harsh. It's just that they took such events far too seriously. These ceremonies occured twice a year, and once right before the Grand Tourney. Where Knights, Chevaliers and renowned warriors would flock to the Free Marches for the chance to compete and place their skills on exhibition. The Grand Tourney was an honest competition, often free of deception and definitely devoid of court intrigue. You'd put swords in one another's hands and then, well, have at it. May the better man win. Straightforward and simple. These Court affairs were puppeteered with words, allegiances and other subtle accomplishments.

They gave Evangeline a bad case of the nerves. A few phrases out of place and she could damage alliances that her family had worked hard to form. Of course, this was only with arse-sniffing Orlesians. The Fereldans were a little more relaxed and understanding. But the thought did little to assuage her apprehension. She would be a nervous wreck before the entire affair. She was certain of it.

"You're late," remarked Asogen as she burst into a clearing where he was to meet her.

"I got ambushed by Mother. She wanted to know what I was going to be wearing and how I wanted my hair –" Evangeline noticed a darkening glower that had begun to move across the Qunari's face. "I – sorry. Never mind."

"Are you ready?"

 _Not really, no_. "Yes." she lied.

"You must be certain. Focused. This is no longer sport. You could get hurt. Even killed."

Evangeline let out an apprehensive, hollowed laugh. "Ha! That's one way to avoid the salon." She studied his countenance for any sign of amusement. There was none. "Not...funny? Not even a little?" she ventured, hopefully.

"You think this a game? This is survival. Should you join the Qun, you will undoubtedly be accepted into our ranks as a soldier. Battle will become second nature to you. It will never be your plaything."

Evangeline groaned in response. " _Relax_. Just trying to ease the tension. You know how I am. A good wisecrack every now and again hasn't done anyone harm."

"I beg to disagree. Under duress, your jokes are considerably appalling." He smiled, and entertained a brief moment of levity. "Shall we go then?" She nodded and he led her up the mountain path to their destination.

* * *

Evangeline would have made short work of the sword-wielding bandits if it hadn't been for a lone archer perched atop a rocky overhang. These weren't ordinary bandits. They were well-coordinated and made good use of their honed skills. An arrow was let loose above and in front of her; the only flank that she thought she had covered. It struck her shoulder and bounced off, repelled effectively by her armor.

This wasn't a good position to be in and she knew it. Three well-armed men began to close ranks. She was literally between a rock and a hard place. She assessed the strength of each man rapidly. The one she had wounded limped closer. _Him_. He would be the weak link. She charged forward with all her might, bringing her left shoulder up to face and jabbed a sword into his injured abdomen. He crumbled to the ground in pain. She could have killed him in that moment by angling her weapon upwards and towards his heart. But Asogen had said that these men were to apprehended alive. He had also said that any half-decent soldier possessed the ability to kill their adversaries but it took true skill to subdue without spilling blood.

Somewhat shielded from the bowman in this new position, she clamored past the now-broken wall of men and attacked them quickly from behind. She leapt onto the back of one and flung her arms around his neck in order to render him unconscious. He struggled frantically and jabbed his elbow in the direction of her face. She dodged the hit. The other man was trying to pry her off of his companion, and in the foray, his blade became locked with that of his comrade. Evangeline tightened her grip. In an effort to break free, the flailing man accidentally thrust his sword into his counterpart. She could hear the metal breaking past armor.

She fell backwards and onto her elbows. A swift assessment of the evolving situation told her that both men, lying prostrate on the ground, were no longer a threat. She let out a relieved sigh. However, a hail of arrows descended around her and ended the brief reprieve.

He was too high to reach quickly. If she had decided to climb up towards his position, he would undoubtedly take advantage of her vulnerability as she scaled the wall of rock. _Rock_. Evangeline quickly surveyed her environment. She dashed towards a moderately-sized hunk of stone. She picked it up. _Yes, this will do_. With her strong arm, she pulled back and unleashed the projectile in the direction of the archer. With a little luck, the hit would stagger him. She certainly did not expect him to lose his footing on the ledge as he dodged the missile and fell to the ground in front of her.

Breathing heavily, she couldn't help but smile at her handiwork. "Well. I'll be damned."

* * *

It felt as if his heart pounded more than ever as he watched her fight. He clenched his fists and felt his hand grow sweaty and cold. Her left flank was always her weakest one, and judging by the lengthiness of the scuffle, she had yet to fix that problem. She was taking too many hits. As each strike landed on her person, Asogen grimaced in what could only be compared to father-like empathy. He was surprised at this surge of concern, and didn't know what to make of it. His instinct split into two. Should she start to stumble beneath the arduous task, he would have to intervene. _No, she has to learn, adapt. Aid her and you weaken her_. She took a blow to her abdomen and cried out in pain as she reeled backwards. Asogen stepped forward impulsively and then stopped himself. She was up and back on her feet already.

_Wait._

Utterly engrossed in Evangeline's dangerous predicament, he hadn't heard the man approach him from behind until he stood alongside the Qunari. Asogen started and began to unsheathe his sword as soon as saw the blade that lay in the other man's hand.

"Aren't you going to help her?" he demanded with a judging stare.

The man was just a boy. He could not have been more than twenty. But his gaze was set and solid. Traits that only arose through the knowledge of battle.

"No. She fights to join the Karasaad – our soldier rank. If she cannot face this on her own, there will no future for her with the Qun." Asogen placed a warning hand in front of the young man.

"I – _what?_ "

"Her strongest asset is her ability to fight. She is skilled at many other things, but in this she would excel. To know that you cannot overcome a hurdle with that which only your greatest talent can conquer brings shame down upon you."

The boy glared up at Asogen. "I don't want to hear you recite the Qun! She'll be crushed! She won't be able to handle them." He gestured in Evangeline's direction. "These are Antivan Crows. They're not common bandits. They're fierce fighters and they fight dirty. Their bowmen frequently use poison-tipped arrows."

"And how do you know so much about the Crows? How did you know this is where they'd be?" Asogen scrutinized the boy's face as he glowered at him.

"I'm after the bounty. Which is, I presume, the reason for why you're here as well." The boy rubbed his brow in frustration. "We have to help her. And if you're not going to do anything about it, I will. You'll have to kill me to stop me."

"Parshaara!" exclaimed Asogen as his gaze lit on Evangeline. A smile grew across his face. "It is done. See for yourself."

They looked below. Evangeline sat on a boulder, one hand on her knee as she looked at the ground, exhausted. It was finally over.

"No longer a fledgling," muttered Asogen under his breath as he beamed with pride at her accomplishment.

* * *

"How on earth am I supposed to cover the cut up? There's only so much I can do with a bit of rouge and powder!"

"How about a touch of kohl?"

"That'd make everything _worse!_ "

"She could wear a mask. With the Orlesians here, it won't cause a stir."

"Mother said 'no masks'."

Evangeline studied her reflection in the mirror as her sisters fussed over her. The cut across her cheekbone was circled by the bluish-black hue of an emerging bruise. She was thrilled to have come out of that fight with all her limbs intact, but the advent of this evening's events made her stomach churn.

"There's nothing we can do," said her oldest sister, despondent. "If you hadn't hacked away your tresses we could have managed something. Couldn't you have at least had a professional attend to your hair?"

Evangeline snarled in the deep of her throat. "There was no time." She rose from the chair in which she was seated and walked towards the dress that had been laid across her sister's bed. It was less extravagant than those which her sisters would be attired in, and it was an intriguing shade of maroon. Best of all, the skirt was shorter and would not be a tripping hazard. She found herself being grateful for this rare occasion when her mother actually listened.

She picked up the dress and draped it across her forearm. She turned to her sisters before leaving. "I'll try to remain inconspicuous throughout the evening. With any luck, they might mistake me for a bedraggled Elven servant. And...thank you for helping. At least we tried, huh?"

* * *

The salon was in full swing. Everything seemed perfect. Lady Trevelyan did not skimp when it came to being hospitable, and she – together with her sister, Lucille – planned the evening with tactical prowess that would have been the envy of military officers. The lighting was warm – not too bright nor too dark. The music was tasteful and covered both Orlesian and Fereldan classics. Glasses clinked happily together as people exchanged pleasantries and engaging chatter.

Introductions over, the Trevelyan sisters stood before the massive fireplace and surveyed their environment.

Evangeline's sister, Claudia – the second oldest, gave a little hop of excitement. "Oh _Maker_. Jean was right. There are Templars here!" She adjusted her lapis lazuli headdress and turned to Evangeline. Her deep blue eyes shone with excitement. "Templars! _Young_ Templars!"

Evangeline looked back at Claudia with fear in her eyes. "Will we have to dance? Last time, Elena had to dance in front of everyone. Please don't make me dance."

Claudia squeezed Evangeline's arm. "Do you see them over there? In that corner? Come on, Evie! Where's your sense of excitement? Hop with me!"

"Do please contain yourself," instructed Annette. "You're going to do yourself an injury."

"Oh bug-whistles," chortled Elena. "Let Claudia have her fun. She is, after all, in her element." She smiled warmly at Evangeline. "How are you holding up, Evie girl?"

Evangeline stood, alarmingly still, absolutely petrified.

"Evie?" asked a concerned Elena as she touched her youngest sister's arm.

Evangeline started. "Fine. _Fine_. Everything's fine." And then, "can I go stand by the balcony? I don't think this bruised face is going to score you many points in the find-a-boy arena."

"No," said Elena gently. "Mother may want you to, but we want you near us. If someone doesn't approve of you, well, we don't approve of them."

"Speak for yourself." said Claudia, only half-joking. "If that Templar over there asks me to elope with him, I'd leave you girls in a heartbeat."

Annette rolled her eyes.

All at once, Claudia spun around and shielded her face from the crowd. "He saw me! He caught me looking at him! What do I do?"

"Well, you'd better think of something quickly, because your paramour and his entourage are heading this way." suggested Annette. "Oh, and Claudia? Even if everything goes well, try not to bring one home until you've ascertained the quality of his moral character. The last one had quite a temper on him."

"Turn around, Claudia," laughed Elena. "You're beautiful. You've got nothing to hide."

"But I'm blushing!"

"Flushed cheeks are very becoming."

"What about bruised cheeks?" whimpered Evangeline as she skulked behind Elena's figure. "Have pity on me, Elena, and let me go." she hissed into her sister's ear. Elena shook her head in frustrated dismissal.

The young Templar and his five compatriots stood before the Trevelyan girls and smiled nervously. The one who had caught Claudia's perceptive eye stretched out his hand in her direction. "Bastian Dubois at your service," he bowed graciously at Claudia and grinned. She issued a wan smile, quite captivated by the handsome young man. "Allow me to introduce my colleagues. Riordan Thiel of Denerim, Alec Stroud of Orlais and Cullen Rutherford of Honnleath."

"A pleasure. You are all training to be Templars?" asked Annette. "How do you come to be in Ostwick?"

"Not all of us," remarked Stroud. "At least not yet."

"Alec likes to stand out." chuckled Bastian. "We're here with our Commander on Templar business. Alec insists on participating in the Grand Tourney next week and we want to support him while we're here."

Annette smiled politely at the boy. Stroud really was quite striking. His dark hair wasn't as short as that of his counterparts – which endowed him with an endearing boy-like quality. His deep-set grey eyes looked back at his surroundings with purpose. He seemed to be looking for something. "Is something troubling you, Alec?" asked Annette, curious.

"I...no. I just thought that you had three sisters. I remember the court introducing three."

Elena pursed her lips, reached behind her person and yanked her youngest sister into view. "We most certainly do. This is our sister, Evangeline. Do say hello, Evie."

Stroud's mouth widened into a vindicated grin. "It was you! I knew it was you! You fought the Crows!"

Evangeline froze. Her sisters looked at her in puzzlement. They were well aware that she had a penchant for sword-fighting, but they believed that her lessons in this field were sporadic and were content to humour her whims. For a time. If only they knew the extent of it.

"I...I hate birds." She spat out, reaching for something, anything, to get her out of this predicament. "Crows especially. The guano, you see. It's everywhere. And they swoop down on anything. These were a different breed. Aggressive." _Oh dear heavens_ , she thought, _she was wading deeper and deeper into mired waters of her own design._

"Yes. Swooping is bad," remarked Stroud with amusement. "I trust you got that all cleared up then?"

"Yes. Yes I did."

"Had any trouble with the guano? Those were aggressive birds after all. It wouldn't be unreasonable to conclude that their - "

" - I took care of it." She flung daggers at him with her eyes.

"But you didn't kill any, did you?"

"I... _no_."

"That takes considerable skill. Crows can be faster than one would imagine. And their beaks are sharp." Still grinning, he pointed to his cheek and nodded in her direction. "Is that how you got that shiner there? Did a crow fly into you?"

Evangeline's fear began to coalesce with anger. Her nostrils had started to flare. Why was he tormenting her like this? It was all too evident that he had learned of her secret, and more alarmingly, he knew that her sisters were quite unaware of it.

Thankfully, a life-line was flung in her direction due to Claudia's impatience. "The night's pressing on and the music is simply delightful." she noted with purpose.

Bastian shook his head in self-reprimand. "Where are my manners? Lady Trevelyan, would you care to have this dance with me?"

Claudia gracefully accepted and locked her arm with Bastian's. She looked back at her sisters as she walked away and beamed. She was positively elated.

Elena was summoned by a servant who said that her mother desired her presence. Annette acquiesced to dancing with Riordan, and Evangeline was left to fend for herself. But she needn't have been too worried. A man in full Templar regalia beckoned to Stroud, who grudgingly left the conversation.

The other Templar, Cullen something or the other, remained quietly by her side. Evangeline let out a deeply held breath and leaned against the pillar that flanked the fireplace. The boy smiled at this release of tension. "On behalf of my friend, I apologize. Stroud would make a fine Templar, but he lacks diplomacy. He is also a bit of a joker. It uh...it drives the girls wild."

"Evidently his charms do not work on me." she said with residual anger. She was still reeling from how close her family had come to learning of her clandestine pastime.

 _Thank goodness for that_ , he thought to himself. He stood awkwardly next to her and studied her out of the corner of his eye. The rest of her siblings were bestowed with gleaming blonde hair. Hers lay on the opposite end of the spectrum. It was black, and cut...well, short. Upon closer inspection, he noticed that some strands of hair were of various lengths. That, coupled with the angry bruise that adorned her pale cheek suggested that she made no pretense of her disdain for primping and preening. It came across as oddly...endearing. Underneath the dark brows and even darker scowl, she was quite pretty. Perhaps not as radiant as her fairer sibling, Claudia, but then again, girls of that sort were uninteresting. Evangeline was a bit of an enigma, and he was beginning to see what had drawn Stroud towards her.

She moved forward decisively. "I...need to take advantage of this brief reprieve to make a hasty retreat. I hope you don't mind."

She looked up at him, evidently desperate to escape before Stroud returned to pick up where he left off. Cullen couldn't help but laugh.

"Well. I'm glad one of us finds this situation amusing." she remarked - the corners of her mouth turned downwards.

"I uh...never meant to offend."

She exhaled. "I know. I apologize. It's just that he could have ruined everything."

Cullen raised his eyebrows.

Just great. She'd let her mouth run away with her again. She was reluctant to satiate his curiousity, but this one seemed...nice. _Oh what the hell_. "I enjoy swordplay. Most of my family is aware of this. What they aren't aware of is how long this has been going on, and how much time I've invested in it. Your blabbermouth of a friend must have seen me today, and nearly gave the game away." She clenched her fists at her side.

Cullen mouthed a silent _oh_.

"Is he always that persistent?" she questioned.

"I'm afraid so." He moved a step closer and lowered his voice. "But what's wrong with learning how to defend yourself?"

Evangeline threw an aghast expression in his direction. "I'm not learning how to defend myself! What - you think all girls are constantly afraid and in dire need of protection? _Bloody hell_ \- what is wrong with you men? I want to fight. I like it. Okay, maybe I'm a little fascinated by the...violence of it, but it is what it is. You're learning to be a Templar after all. Surely you can relate?"

"I enjoy the discipline of it."

She narrowed her eyes. "And the physical effort you put in too. Admit it."

Cullen laughed. "Alright. Maybe a little." And on further consideration, "Or a lot."

"It's the physical release, isn't it? I think it stems from being trapped. Or stuck. And if you're talented, why not flaunt it?"

"You think I feel trapped?"

"I...don't know how _you_ feel. I'm just drawing on my own experiences."

"Trapped by...?"

Evangeline smiled at him knowingly, grabbed the sides of her dress and stretched the velvet material in opposite directions. "This isn't me."

"Evidently not." He smiled despite himself. "Then who is the _real_ Evangeline Trevelyan?"

She hesitated. "I don't know yet. I may not know for a long time to come. I just know what I'm not. And why are _you_ so curious?"

"It's just...well," he stared into her eyes for the better part of a minute as his voice faltered. They were violet. Only the Qunari possessed such a hue and passed it down from generation to generation. Something unusual came over Evangeline as well. Try as she might, she couldn't look away. Her heart pounded a little faster and her knees seemed as if they were caving under the weight of the body they had so long been accustomed to carrying. Everything, everyone in the room seemed to dissipate into irrelevancy. There was only him. _Why is he looking at me like that for? Why doesn't he look away?_

Slightly frightened by the change that was sweeping over her, she blinked and looked away, breaking the spell. He followed suit and feigned great interest in the dancing crowd. His hands were cold and yet he felt exhilarated. She was different. Unlike anyone he'd met. With strengthened resolve, he had decided to ask her for a dance. He turned around...and she was gone.

He scanned the moving crowd for any sign of her. She had slipped away carefully, she had managed to – _there_. At the other end of the room, he watched as a noblewoman swept across the floor in the arms of her partner. Behind the lady's extravagant attire, a figure would sometimes reveal itself in an attempt to keep up with the movements of the dancing pair. The figure was using the dancers as moving cover.

Cullen's face broke into a wide smile. He was determined to have that dance.


	4. Princess Stabbity Strikes Again

**Princess Stabbity Strikes Again**

Evangeline managed to reach the balcony without being spotted. After ensuring that it was devoid of seclusion-seeking lovers and people after her own heart, she quickly shifted all the potted-plants towards the balcony door. _There_. Now that made it inaccessible. She sunk down wearily onto the marble bench. If she ever had to endure another day like this one, it would be too soon.

And then there was the matter of...well, whatever that was with the Cullen boy. It was an aspect of herself that she was unfamiliar with. The attention of the opposite sex had always denied her, and at first, the rebuke and prejudice of it bothered her terribly. She grew more introverted, while her beautiful sisters were being courted – some by multiple men at a time – she looked to other means of solace. She was, when it came down to it, a selfish dreamer. It was far too easy to embroil herself in tales of legend. She steeped her imagination in tales of Flemeth, the Witch of the Wilds, Ser Calenhad, King Maric and his closest friend and advisor, Loghain – her list of her favourite historical figures was a lengthy one.

And ultimately, she was a sap for a good yarn. True or not. Take the tale of Ferelden's former king, for example. Rumour had it that Maric was in love with an Elven spy, Katriel, prior to marriage to his betrothed, Rowan of Redcliffe. The Orlesians, in their bid for Ferelden occupation, had concocted an elaborate scheme to do away with the rightful king. They had the elf play victim to a false raid that had done away with her entire family. She was to seduce her way into Maric's heart and betray him. Except that it didn't quite pan out as intended. As Maric fell in love with the elf, she did the same with him. Pangs of conscience wracked her initial motives and she could not bring herself to harm the man she now loved. Enter Loghain. What Maric was to the brighter future of Ferelden, Loghain was to its darker nature. He was a somber, yet practical man. He was a seasoned warrior and cunning strategist. He was willing to make the tough calls and bear the burden of their consequences.

So, given such qualities, it came as no surprise to her that he eventually unraveled the Orlesian plot. As he did so, he also recognized that the elf no longer wished to send his king to his death. But he elected to omit this crucial detail. To him, the elf was a liability and a significant threat to Maric's claim to the throne. He bore this grim news to Maric and painted this treachery with darkened hues of his own enmity towards the Orlesians. Good king Maric allowed his emotions to get the better of him and confronted his lover. As she admitted to her former designs she simultaneously confessed that her love for him had done away with all her harmful intentions. Tears streaming down her face, she begged for her life and the opportunity to prove her loyalty. Maric, angered and hurt beyond words, ran his sword through her. Only later did her recognize that Katriel's love for him was genuine. The realization almost broke him.

Evangeline's eyes shone as she looked up at the starry sky. Entrapment, loyalty, betrayal, love and death. This tale had it all.

At night, she would sit outside and fantasize about such legends. She envisioned herself _there_ , in their time. Fighting their battles. Mourning their losses. Celebrating their victories. It was a welcome escape. She began to take great pleasure from this quiet solitude. It was welcome, kind, and provided her a sense of freedom she had never experienced before.

Evangeline was also particularly drawn to Andraste and the woman's alleged connection to the Maker. As she grew older, her beliefs began to manifest disjunction from faith and reality. The Maker was all-seeing and all-knowing. Fine. But what good was He when he turned his back on the suffering of His people? Thousands sought solace in the Chant, but were not rewarded. And what about Andraste, herself? The woman burned at the stake, for heaven's sake. She was His chosen. She was to spread His word. She was to help people in His name. Why did He not intervene?

To Evangeline, the answer was clear. There was no Maker.

She maintained this heretical belief but secured it within. Only Elena, her sweet Elena, knew of it. She participated in her duties towards the Chantry, she sang the Chant. But all of it was an elaborate masquerade and she was too much of a coward in this regard to admit to it.

The answers to her questions didn't lie in Ostwick. That much was clear. She doubted that it even existed amidst the ragtag gentry that was Free Marches. She would have to venture farther, when she was older, on her own. For now, she had to make do with journeys they made together as a household.

Her father would often take them north to Rivain, and she reveled in the foreign noises and pleasant scent of spices in Dairsmuid's bustling marketplaces. She thought it a mere glimpse of an elaborate picture. When she was older she would foray deeper into the world and allow herself to get lost in it. Such journeys awoke in her senses that she didn't know she possessed.

Just as that Cullen boy had.

 _Ugh_. Not that again. She pushed him out of her mind and centered her focus on the more immediate. Her feet throbbed with pain that she was finally ready to acknowledge. She removed the torturous contraption that had ensnared them and sighed in relief. In the bright light of the moon she noticed that her formerly scrunched toes had turned white.

"You poor things," she mumbled to herself, as she assessed the damage. "I won't allow Aunt Lucille's demonic fashion sense to ever touch you again." She wiggled and stretched her toes. It hurt, but it was a good kind of pain. As if the ligaments and muscles were waking up.

"I knew a man who would kiss his foot goodnight every night before bed. Not both feet. Just the one."

She jumped slightly in alarm. "How did you...?"

Stroud's eyes sparkled in the moonlight. "I can be quiet if I choose."

"I have had quite enough of your...your – "

"Wit? Banter? Charm?" he offered helpfully.

"My family has no idea of my training. You would have ruined everything. You would have taken away something that means a great deal to me and destroyed my relationship with my family. And your glibness amidst it all sickens me."

"I know."

She was rendered mute by the unexpected response.

"That's why I'm here," he began. He moved forward and sat down on the bench beside her. "I came to apologize. I even brought you a peace offering."

He pulled out something that had been neatly wrapped in silk. It was flat, solid and sharp.

"I...can't accept gifts from people I don't know," Evangeline said hesitantly.

"Okay." He smiled in the moonlight. "Do me a favour and open it though. If you don't like it, I'll take it back."

She humoured him and unfolded the wrapped item carefully. It was a polished dagger. The blade had unfamiliar engravings on it, as did the hilt. The grip was made of rich felt and she couldn't help but handle the dagger just as Asogen had taught her many years ago. It was a beautiful instrument and must have cost him a pretty penny. After several seconds of playing with it, she turned to Stroud.

"How much did you pay for this?"

He took a deep breath. "It was gifted to me, actually, by a very talented swordfighter in Rivain. She gave it to me before she died."

"And the circumstances that brought about the gift-giving...?"

"If you spend some more time with me, I'd consider sharing that."

Evangeline frowned. " _Okay_. Let's get something straight. I am not - " she pointed in the direction of the ballroom inside, "– going to swoon over you like the girls out there. I have had a trying day and am in no mood to play games. Now tell me why you're here and tell me what you want. Just be forthright, dispense with the niceties, and I promise I will do whatever I can to help you. No bribes required."

She started to hand the elegant dagger back to him but he pushed it back in refusal, and grasped her hand gently as he did so.

"I don't really want anything." He flinched; aware of his mistake. "Well. Okay. I do want something. Would it be so terrible if I wanted to spend some time with you while I'm here in Ostwick?"

She withdrew her hand. "This is about Asogen, isn't it. You want me to ask him to train you for the Grand Tourney."

"Nope."

"You want me to introduce you to Claudia?"

He laughed.

"You need some coin to pay back people who you've borrowed money from."

"Wrong on both counts. Honestly, Evangeline, what kind of person do you think I am?"

She looked at him, uncertain. "I haven't the foggiest."

"Will you give us the opportunity to get to know one another?"

His countenance seemed sincere. But gauging people's motives from subtle inflections of expression was something she wasn't terribly good at. One thing she did know was that he intrigued her. And the attention was nice. She had been so accustomed to driving boys away with her harshness that when one finally paid her mind, something solid crumbled within her. So this is what it was like.

"I...okay," she conceded.

His smile soon reflected her own. "There's a Rivaini encampment on Hallowed Hill. I sometimes go there and sit and listen to their music. Would you like to come with me there tomorrow?"

"Okay."

"What time shall I – "

Their conversation was cut short by a cacophony in the ballroom. Ladies screamed as glass and various items crashed to the floor.

The pair leapt to their feet.

"What is it?" he said as he peered through the glass door.

She opened the door a crack and saw something short and four-legged zig-zag its way through the crowd.

She had forgotten to lock the dog up. She turned to Stroud, the colour rapidly draining from her face. "I have to fix this. I can't stay – she will have my head for this..."

"Wait! What time should I stop by tomorrow?"

"I will not live to see tomorrow!" she shouted back as she darted through the doorway.

* * *

Mabaris were intelligent animals. Most of their proud owners claimed that they were intelligent enough to understand their handler's language and wise enough to not let on. Evangeline's own Mabari certainly fit the bill. He possessed many human-like emotions. Some days he served as comforting presence - not just to Evangeline, but the rest of the household as well. Another day, during a visit from her aunt and uncle, Aunt Lucille had insisted that they keep him well away from her. Bunty was quite wounded and had decided to exact his revenge. He stole into Aunt Lucille's room and nosed through several of her clothes. He grabbed her underthings in his mouth and promptly set about burying it all in the courtyard. Other times, he would sit quietly outside and gaze up at the stars for a time. Evangeline's heart melted whenever this compunction came over him. She would say nothing, put a reassuring hand on his back and stare up at the sky with him.

But today? Today he was all _dog_.

She spotted him darting underneath a woman's ruffled skirt. The woman squealed and turned about repeatedly in an attempt to get the creature to go away. Bunty thought this was all in good fun and leapt out of her way only to blunder into someone else's legs.

" _Here!_ " cried Evangeline. "Here, Bunty! Stop this nonsense at once!"

Her shoulder accidentally bumped into a man carrying drinks. They spilled and crashed to the floor. "Sorry! So sorry!" she wailed.

Where was the blasted dog?

Bunty popped out from under a table and bent down on his front legs, his rear sticking up in the air – his little stub of a tail wagging mightily. He barked in glorious delight.

"This is not a game!" She lunged forward to grab him. He nimbly pounced to one side and escaped.

The sea of people had parted; the crowd had gathered along the walls of the large ballroom and watched the unfolding spectacle with bewildered fascination.

Bunty took off at top speed. His ears lay happily back and his tongue lolled to the right as he galloped forward. He was so caught up in the moment that he didn't notice that he had run straight into the encircling arms of his captor.

"I have him!" shouted Cullen.

The Mabari struggled against the boy but did not bite. Evangeline ran up to them in relieved gratitude.

"Should we get a leash?" he asked.

She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. She remained rooted to the spot; slackjawed. Then, all at once, she bent down and picked up the large dog in her arms. He had gone quiet and struggled no more. Evidently he was well aware of the tumult he had wrought and the guilt was starting to show. With her heavy dog held in front of her, all four of its paws dangling helplessly before it, she walked out of the room.

* * *

"That's your fifth drink!" exclaimed Elena.

"And yet it's not enough. I prefer to forget the events of this evening. Fragments of it still remain. Vivid. Fragments. More wine, barkeep!" demanded Evangeline as she held an empty glass in the air.

Elena rolled her eyes heavenwards. "Oh for pity's sake." She rose reluctantly and proceeded to uncork another bottle of wine. "There is no barkeep in the cellar."

Evangeline pointed vigorously at the empty glass. "Fill that thing up, my good woman."

Her sister sloshed the wine into the large cup. "So you're saying that Alec wants to spend some time with you tomorrow?"

"You should be more concerned about my rapidly shortening lifespan and less about my nonexistent love life. After Mother decides to emerge from her room, my neck will become well-acquainted with a headsman's axe. Actually, no. She won't hire a headsman. She'll execute me herself." She raised her hand in the imitation of a blade and brought it down on the table with a resounding thud. "So long as it's quick and painless."

"Curb the gallows humour, Evie." she said sternly. She took a bite of the small meal in front of her and then steered her sister back on topic. "Why on earth would Alec ask to spend time with you?"

The corners of Evangeline's mouth turned downwards. "I know I may not be half the looker that you are, my good man, but award me a little dignity. I have very little of it left anyway. There is no need for that display of incredulity. _And_...to answer your astute question: I have no bloody idea."

"You misjudge my incredulity, Evie girl. I just want to understand the boy's motives." She reached out and patted her sister's hand. "You really are quite beautiful. You do know that, don't you?"

Evangeline took a gulp of wine. "Of course I am. To you. You love me – I'm your sister. How does the saying go? Love is the all-seeing eye?" She looked away in deliberation. "Um. That's not right. At any rate, whatever the saying, love instills prejudice – whether that's good or bad can only be examined with more alcohol."

"I think you've had quite enough."

"I have to tell you – the attentions of one boy is manageable. Two makes it more treacherous than...than…oh, for crying out loud. Where's a facetious metaphor when you need one?" She rubbed her eyes in an effort to remain awake and lucid. "I mean, the attention's nice and all. I finally feel as if I've stepped over the threshold into a new world." She sighed. "But I wouldn't expect you understand, Claudia. You are well versed in such affairs. Half the boys in Ostwick are madly in love with you. Heh..falling in and out of love must be customary for you at this point."

" _I...am...Elena_ ," said her older sister deliberately. But it was no use. The wine had finally gone to her head. The best she could do now is to garner the truth of the events of this evening. If ever a truth serum did exist for her beloved sister, it was alcohol. "What did you mean by ' _two_ '? There was another chap?"

Evangeline paused, thinking. It took her several minutes to respond. "The Cullen boy. I forget his last name. I think he wanted to dance. And kiss. Maybe. I wanted to kiss him, that's for sure."

Elena smiled fondly at her sister. "Did you now. What about Alec? Did you not want to kiss him?"

"Honestly? I don't know anymore. I feel like blob of kneaded dough. Kneaded with knives and axes and daggers and...are you going to eat that muffin?"

Elena pushed her chair away as she rose up. "I think that's enough liquor for one night. Let's get you into bed."

* * *

The pair, one sister holding up the other, made slow but sure progress across the narrow hallway to their sleeping quarters.

"You don't have to help – I can manage," mumbled Evangeline for the fourth time.

"That's alright. I want to help." said Elena patiently. For the fourth time.

"You're too good to me. Did I ever tell you that you're my favourite? Don't ever get married and move away, Elena." Evangeline and Elena came to an abrupt halt. Evangeline blinked stupidly ahead of her. Something manifested from the shadows; illuminated poorly from an oil lamp. She pointed in its direction with a wavering hand. "Is that...an apparition I see before me? Speak, specter! Tell us what you want and then begone!" And then, upon a moment's reflection, "Actually, don't tell us what you want. But do the begone bit. Please and thank you."

A young man stepped forward. It was Cullen. "I have been searching for her all evening. Is she alright?"

Elena looked at the boy knowingly. "She may have had a glass too many."

"I...okay. Does her mother know?"

"No. And see to it that it remains that way. Our Evie girl has no head for alcohol."

Hurried footsteps clacked again the stone floor behind them. A servant addressed Elena, her face frantic. "Mistress Elena, the canapés have burned. There is nothing that could replace them!"

Elena grimaced. "What do you expect me to do? I'm somewhat preoccupied."

"The cook has had a breakdown. She claims that your sister's Mabari made its way into one of the food cellars. She hadn't noticed until long after. And somehow she's managed to burn all the canapés. We are at a loss for a good substitute."

"What about some crème caramel? That's easy to prepare and it doesn't take much time."

"No," she moaned, clearly flustered. "We may be out of sugar. The new cook seems to use everything in excess. Please come see to it!"

Evangeline was attempting to steady herself against a wall. She looked from Elena to Cullen and to their maid sluggishly. It was as if she was trying to piece the recent conversation together. It proved a fruitless endeavor, so she would huff in exasperation as this circular logic thwarted her.

"Go, Elena. Save yourself," she said with significant drama. She swayed with inebriation. "I will hold the fiends off." She gestured in Cullen's direction. "And take this Chavalier with you. He will direct you to safety. Do you hear that, Chevvie my boy? If anything happens to her, you will rue the day."

Elena looked towards Cullen, pleading.

"I will take care of it." he said.

Elena shot him a piercing gaze. "If you take advantage of her..."

"I wouldn't dream of doing such a thing. You have my word."

Elena scuttled after her servant.

Evangeline tried to focus her eyes on a tapestry that hung in the corridor. "Young lady," she began, her words slurring together, "should you not be home at this hour?"

"Evie. It's me. Cullen. Would you permit me to escort you to your bedroom?"

"The things you say!" and she began to snicker.

He relinquished a half smile. He placed his arm underneath across and under her shoulder and began walking with her towards a curved stairwell.

"I would die for my family!" she exclaimed suddenly, startling him.

"I – what?"

"Don't let them take me into the Chantry, Elena. Nor do I wish to join the Templars. I can protect all of you now. With father gone, you will need such skill."

"I am not your sister, Evie."

She turned slowly towards him and upon realization, raised her brows. "Ah. So you aren't."

Cullen paused.

She took advantage of that hesitation. "Let's just…let's just sit for a minute. Alright? I need to grab my bearings." She looked up at the ceiling. "Where is the night sky?"

"You are at home. Inside." He sat down on a step beside her.

"Oh. Okay." She looked at Cullen and narrowed her eyes. "Are you the Cullen boy?"

He chuckled. "The one and the same."

"Well this has been a splendid evening, has it not?"

"It certainly was...memorable." said Cullen tactfully.

"I must admit that I am a trifle disappointed that after imbibing several consecutive glasses of alcohol, my memory has yet to fail. Perhaps the events of this night have scarred me for life." She cupped her chin in her hand and gazed despondently at the floor.

"That's rather fatalistic, don't you think? These things happen. It won't be long before your mother forgives you."

She blinked a few times in an attempt to clear her thoughts. "What did you say your last name was?"

"I – it's Rutherford."

She mouthed his name silently. "I had a bear called Rutherford. He had a straw hat and stunning cape. A goat ate him."

He chuckled. "I hope that's not an ill omen of things to come."

"What's coming?" Her mind had veered off topic yet again.

Cullen hesitated for a moment before replying. It was often difficult for him to reveal his thoughts, never mind the innermost ones. It gave the impression that he was sullen and disinterested. Even amidst his close circle of Templar friends, opening up and exposing vulnerabilities were traits he struggled to adopt. With this curious being in front of him, however, he was felt both alive and refreshed. As if he had awoken from a deep slumber.

He began, "You probably won't remember this tomorrow, but...we're to be transferred to the Circle Tower in Lake Calenhad."

She studied him with great interest. And this time, she didn't look away.

He went on. "I'm not sure how much you know about magic but when a mage apprentice is learned enough to officially join the Circle of Magi, they have to pass a test."

"The Harrowing?" she asked.

So she _was_ listening. "Yes. A Templar is duty-bound to slay the mage who fails."

"Have _you_ ever killed anyone?"

"Not...yet. I can't say that I'm looking forward to the experience."

"Then why did you become a Templar, you foolish, _foolish_ creature?"

"I suppose I admire them. All they have to sacrifice all in the name of duty. They're a disciplined lot and necessary."

"A necessary _evil_." quipped Evangeline.

"I'm sorry?" said Cullen, slightly taken aback.

"For centuries, we have used the excuse of demonic possession to imprison mages. Okay, fine. So the Tevinter arseholes decided to jimmy their way into the Golden City. So they defiled the place. But can you provide validity? Can they provide proof of these actions? Can anyone?"

He took advantage of this rare moment of lucidity to press his point. "Andraste herself – "

"Andraste was a noble woman who met an ignoble death. She was manipulated by her own beliefs."

Cullen scrutinized Evangeline with a new sense of curiousity. Where normally blasphemy against the Maker and his Chosen would anger him, this somewhat logical examination piqued his interest.

"But...your family is devoted to the Chantry. How could _you_ not believe?" he asked.

"I play pretend." she replied. "It is the coward's way, but letting my entire family down seems like the more unpleasant alternative."

Cullen furrowed his brows. "So I take it that you've never entertained the idea of joining the Templar order?"

"Hell no. I'd rather recite dirty limericks while juggling nugs at the Wintersend Ball. Now _there's_ an image." She started tracing the outline of the stonework masonry about her. "I may not know what I want, but I am certainly aware of what I don't." And then, as an afterthought, "But credit goes to you for finding your own path. Some of us have no clue as to our own. I can tell you that right now, I'm experiencing some serious I-found-my-path envy."

"Do you have no clues as to where your future lies?"

"No." She hung her head. "And it terrifies me. Sooner or later, one of my relatives will step forward and make that call on my behalf." She lapsed into silence for a minute. Such weighty matters taxed her intoxicated mind. "But…that's all in the future. And judging by my mother's furor, I won't have one."

"I'm sure she'll calm down in time. When I was eleven, my brother and I managed to completely obliterate this ornate, oak table my father had carved. He enjoyed woodworking in his spare time. He was positively _livid_." Cullen chortled in recollection. "We thought our short lives had finally come to a tragic end. We endured two days of loud berating and on the third, he took us fishing and seemed to have forgotten about the entire incident."

"How the devil did you obliterate a solid oak table?"

"We, uh...were pretending to slay a fell beast." He glanced aside in mild embarrassment.

Evangeline slapped her thigh and snorted in laughter. "It's just that you don't seem the..." her mind fumbled about, searching for the appropriate adjective.

"Imaginative type?" he offered helpfully. "No, no I don't."

She folded her arms across her chest and attempted to lean back against the stone steps. The action coupled with the alcohol in her bloodstream resulted in an awkward, wobbling motion. Cullen reached out and steadied her. "Thanks," she said. "Well. So are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Imaginative?"

"I...don't know. I suppose that's something for others to decide."

Evangeline wrinkled her nose in distaste. " _Pffft_. Pooh to the opinion of the masses. Unless you're an axe murderer at heart, I say be who you are and sod the lot of them. _I_ think you're more imaginative than you may give yourself credit for. Pure speculation of course, but you seem the type."

Cullen shook his head in confusion. "The type? Am I on comparative display here?"

She gave him a wide grin that caused his heart to beat faster. "You're an obvious introvert, my friend. And I suspect that you're talented at a great many things, but for whatever reason, you're afraid to let anyone in on your secrets." She patted him fondly on the shoulder. "I'm not judging you, by any means. That's okay if you need to keep some things tucked away. Solitude of that sort isn't loneliness. It's necessary. Once in while though, I hope you know it's alright to show-off."

The last person who spoke to him with such familiarity was his sister. And he had remained mostly silent during her insightful analyses. "I don't really have anyone to show-off to."

Evangeline frowned. "Well, that's a shame. Strapping young woman like yourself. Girls must be all a-swooning around you, I'm sure."

He was too nervous now to laugh. Could she possibly find him attractive? "I assure you, they seem to pay me little mind. Uh...what about yourself? Do you...uh...have anyone to show-off to?"

She looked away briefly; pondering the question. The attempt proved futile. " _What?_ "

"Are you, well, _you know_...?"

"No, I most certainly _don't_ know. You'll have to spell this one out for me, I'm afraid."

"Are you _with_ anyone? Of the...um, opposite sex." Cullen fixed his gaze on the flickering flame of a wall sconce.

She snorted. "Of course not. Boys don't like me. I've liked my share fair...I mean, my fair share, but the feelings were never mutual. The last one I liked feigned interest in me just so he could get closer to Claudia. I broke a clay pitcher over his head once I found out. He required six stitches after. My mother had to personally meet with his to assure her that I wasn't a complete psychopath."

"What about Stroud?" he asked before he could stop himself.

" _Who?_ "

" _Alec Stroud_ ," said Cullen slowly. "He seemed pretty keen."

"My good man, have you been at the wine again? I have no idea who you're talking about."

 _Was she lying_ , pondered Cullen? No, she didn't quite seem the sort. It was more likely that her alcoholic haze had muddied her memory. He found himself wondering if she would remember _him_ the following day.

Their conversation dwindled into an awkward silence. It seemed that she was content to break it first. "Tell me this, Cullen Rutherford of the Templar Order," she abruptly grinned. "Why on earth were you searching for me?"

He impetuously looked away. "I...you've had a taxing evening. I was...concerned."

"I can handle myself," she said in defiance.

"Not very well in social circles, however."

"Why, you impudent little boy." she said, smiling. "Fine. I'll give credit where credit is due. You're quite right."

One side of Cullen's mouth turned up in a half-smile. He fought the compulsion to lean forward. He fought the need to feel her lips on his own. _Not now_ , his conscience would warn. _Don't begin something that would pain you to end. Think Templar. Think **discipline**._

Evangeline swayed forward. Cullen's sharpened reflexes caught her before her head clashed with stone. "I am...so very _tired_." she murmured.

"Permit me to lead you to your room. It might be time you slept the alcohol away."

No," she said obstinately. "Just let me..." with that, she rested her head against Cullen's shoulder and fell almost instantly into a deep sleep.

He slid and arm around her and didn't move for several hours.


	5. The Bear and the Dagger

"Well, well. What do we have here?" came a voice, startling Cullen so violently that he leapt up. His knees banged painfully against the table almost toppling it. He quickly grabbed its corners and brought it level to the ground.

With raised eyebrows, Stroud attempted to peer over Cullen's shoulder. But the latter was taller and swiftly moved to conceal his activities.

"Relax, you sullen thing. I didn't see anything." Stroud walked towards an open bay window and sniffed the air. The scent of baking wafted in. Stroud sniffed again. Apple pie. Definitely apple. "So you're all dismissed for the day or just you?"

"We don't typically train while we're on business. This is more of a semi-official visit. No mage-hunting required." said Cullen, frowning before he quickly caught himself.

Stroud chuckled and strolled about the room. He walked up to a bookshelf and scanned the titles. "So you're not participating in the Tourney, then? Even after your Commander gave you permission?"

Cullen shrugged. "I don't really feel the need to."

"The need to fight or the need to prove yourself?"

"Both."

"Aren't you at least going to be a spectator?"

Cullen shrugged.

"Well, you're awful chatty today, aren't you?" noted Stroud. "You're going to talk my ear off at this rate."

Cullen studied Stroud as his brows furrowed. He didn't quite know the man apart from the fact that he was an acquaintance of Bastien's. All he knew was that Stroud was one of those people to whom all charismatic manipulations came naturally. And with this confidence came decisiveness. Once he'd set his eyes on something, he would home in on it with singular focus. A pity he had no intentions of joining the Templars. But Cullen didn't feel too badly about that.

Something about Stroud rubbed him the wrong way. And he couldn't, for the life of him, identify it.

As Cullen pondered, lost in his thoughts, Stroud lunged forward towards the table that the Templar was guarding. Cullen reacted too late. Stroud snatched two items off it and backtracked to put some distance between Cullen and himself. He held up one of the things in the air, examining it.

"A _bear?_ " he said incredulously. He held up the other item. "And a straw hat!"

"Please give them back," he said as he closed his eyes – properly mortified.

In between sporadic spurts of laughter he pressed on. "Had I known you had such an interest in toys, I would have introduced you to my little sister. Please, _please_ tell me what these are for."

A red hue flushed Cullen's cheeks. "Why are you even here?"

Stroud, still mesmerized by the bear, his hat and this entire development, took a moment to reply. "Riordan said you own a lute. I need to borrow it."

"I – what do you need the lute for?"

"Amorous pursuits."

"Who are you...er...pursuing?"

"Young Miss Evangeline of House Trevelyan."

At this revelation, Cullen's heart grew heavy and his shoulders seemed to sag. This was it. This is what rubbed him the wrong way. "Ah."

"Is that disappointment in your voice, Ser Cullen?" questioned Stroud, a little puzzled.

"No." he said, his voice low. "The uh...the lute's in that chest over there."

Stroud handed back the bear and its hat. Cullen wordlessly walked back to the table.

"Did I say something wrong?" asked Stroud, genuinely concerned.

Without turning around he answered, "No. Everything's fine."

Stroud remained in one place for several moments and deliberated on whether to pursue the matter or to leave it be. He tucked the lute under his arm and walked out.

* * *

Cullen sat down on the chaise lounge in the parlor with his hands clasped in front of him. Every now and then he would glance up at a painting and would daydream about what the people within were truly like. A rotund face gazed out from one of the portraits, with a bulbous nose, heavy jowls and a rather exquisite mustache. So exquisite that it didn't seem to fit the face. The man's shoulders and neck were encircled by a positively hideous set of feathered pauldrons. He speculated that the man was an Antivan merchant who was enamoured by exotic articles that he collected during his travels. He was meticulous in most things, and brushed those damnable feathers each night before going to bed.

"I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting," said Elena as she rushed down the stairs.

Cullen rose up to greet her. "It's no trouble. We haven't really had much to do in Ostwick these past few days. It feels like I'm on holiday."

"Nonetheless, it was rude on my part. Especially after all you've done for my sister last night." She jerked her thumb behind her, gesturing. "Did you want me to fetch Evie?"

Cullen thought on this for several seconds. Despite the fact that nothing had happened between them save for what he believed to be a mutual attraction, seeing her and knowing that by the end of the night she would very likely be in Stroud's arms, seemed more intolerable than he could have imagined.

"No, it's not necessary. I did, however, come to give her this." He looked down at his feet, somewhat embarrassed and self-conscious. He handed the small bear over to Elena without meeting her gaze.

Elena scrutinized the plaything in an attempt to jog her memory. And then she smiled in realization. "Why, it's Ser Rutherford! Hat, cape and all! How on earth did you...?"

"She might have mentioned it last night."

"She did adore that bear. She'd put it next to her pillow when she went to bed. She was heartbroken when he got eaten by a g–"

" – a goat. I know." he chuckled.

Elena beamed at him. After Evangeline's series of antics that pushed her towards a drunken stupor yesterday, she had returned from the kitchens to find her sister propped up against the Templar's shoulders, snoring softly. He must have sat there for almost two hours. He had carried the girl carefully up the stairs as Elena guided him to her room. He then placed her in bed, accepted Elena's gratitude and bid them goodnight. Her respect for him skyrocketed and Elena wanted them married by the end of the week.

"You really should give this to her yourself," she suggested.

"I – it's not important. She probably won't even remember."

"You may be right, but I have a suspicion that she will be pleased to see you."

"Oh...?" he said, his interest suddenly piqued. "I uh...heard that she was going to be preoccupied this evening."

"She is," Elena admitted. "But there is a degree of...reluctance involved."

He gave her a hopeful look and then directed his gaze elsewhere as a worried expression stole over his face. "What do I do?"

Elena clasped her hands together in deep thought. "I may have a few pointers on that one," she smiled mischievously. She held up her left palm in mock fealty. "I hereby appoint myself to be your man-on-the-inside. And I solemnly pledge that I will endeavor tirelessly on your behalf. Now stop fretting and let's go for a walk."

* * *

Claudia, her blonde locks held up by an intricately crafted butterfly pin, tip-toed her way into her youngest sister's bedroom. She carefully opened the door wider, wincing each time it creaked and groaned. She slipped through the threshold inside. She stealthily made her way to Evangeline's bed and almost knocked over a stack of books that her sister had kept close at hand. She squinted as she studied the tome at the top of the pile – _Love is a Battlefield: A detailed account of The Witch of the Wilds, her life, trials and power_. It was written by a fledgling author named Varric Tethras. Beneath the title lay a somewhat shabbily-drawn picture of a woman riding a dragon with a greatsword held high in the air. Claudia rolled her eyes and shook her head. Why their Evie chose to fill her head with such drivel, she could not fathom.

She knelt beside the bed. Her sister's eyes remained shut in deep slumber. Claudia briefly closed her own and cleared her throat as if readying herself to address an expectant audience. "There was a young lad named Cullen, who some would call quite sullen. But as soon as he saw my sister, he decided he wanted to kiss her, for in love the poor boy had fallen."

Evangeline's eyes opened and she looked blearily into her sister's face. Claudia was grinning. Why was Claudia grinning?

"Wassat…?" she said smacking her severely parched mouth together.

Claudia tilted her head to one side and looked in amusement at her sister. She brought the bear out and made him dance playfully from side to side in front of Evangeline. "Peekaboo! Someone's got a bear for you!"

Evangeline squinted stupidly at the bear. "Is that...Ser – "

"It's Ser Rutherford!"

"How...? I mean, he...the goat..."

" _Someone_ made it for you."

Evangeline grasped the bear and smoothed down his little blue cape. It wasn't an exact replica, but it came rather close to the original. "Who made it?"

"Guess."

Evangeline sat up in bed and grimaced. Her heart seemed to pound loudly and for no reason. Her mouth felt like sandpaper and her eyes were so very hot behind her eyelids.

"Go on – guess!" insisted Claudia.

" _Okay!_ Alright! Just keep your voice down," said an irritated Evangeline. "Only you lot would know about Ser Rutherford and his...unfortunate demise. So it's got to be either from you, Elena or Annette. With mother's current feelings towards me, we all know it could _never_ have come from her."

"Wrong on all three counts."

Evangeline furrowed her brows and threw her hands up in the air. "I'm stumped."

"Do you remember _nothing_ from last night?"

Evangeline shuddered in recollection of Bunty's disastrous exploits. She remembered her mother's face – a picture of crimson fury. She had stared Evangeline down, and was rendered speechless by all the damage her daughter and her infuriating dog had caused. So she hadn't quite forgotten _everything_. Evangeline's memory jogged back further and wandered into her conversation with Stroud on the balcony. Wasn't she supposed to be _somewhere_...?

Her eyes widened in realization. "What time is it?" she said as she grasped the edge of the mattress and swung her legs over onto the floor.

"Six in the evening," replied Claudia, puzzled.

" _You let me sleep in?_ " exclaimed a panicked Evangeline.

"We had no choice – you refused to wake up!" Still kneeling on the floor, she looked on as her sister started to dress herself rapidly. Evangeline hopped around the room as she struggled to pull up her trousers. "Why in the Maker's name are you in such a hurry?"

"I have to meet someone. I said I would."

"Who?"

Evangeline froze for a moment before relenting. "Oh, _fine_. If you really must know – Stroud wants to take me to a Rivaini encampment on Hallowed Hill."

Claudia's jaw dropped and her face broke into a wide smile. " _There's another one!_ " she gasped with a degree of surprised reverence.

Evangeline pointed accusingly at Claudia. "You know, you being so shocked does absolutely nothing to boost my already-fractured self-confidence. And what in blazes do you mean by ' _another one_ '?"

"My baby sister is all grown up!"

Evangeline turned her eyes heavenwards and rushed out of the bedroom. Claudia, taken aback by her amazement at this new development, quickly pulled herself together and ran up to the doorway. With one hand on the door's frame, she shouted out to her sister. " _Wait!_ Don't you want to know who the bear's from?"

Her only reply was the sound of running footsteps on the stone stairwell.

* * *

Just as she was about to leave their home, a commanding voice called out from behind her. " _Evangeline_."

She closed her eyes and turned around. She didn't know if it was a trick of the light from the braziers or the fact that her mother held herself erect with poise, but to Evangeline she seemed taller. Imposing. Terrifying.

"What happened yesterday – "

Evangeline looked properly contrite. " – I am so very sorry, mama. I never meant to – "

Her mother held up her index finger and Evangeline's jaw clamped shut.

Her mother went on. "What happened yesterday was a debacle of epic proportions. It was...rude and humiliating. I had a _very_ sleepless night. I kept thinking of all the things I would say to you, and I realized that my words would have been words of hate and not reproach. Which is why I had to restrain myself. I have calmed down sufficiently and have had a bit of an epiphany." She paused briefly, expecting Evangeline to reply. The girl didn't, so she continued. "You enjoy playing the man, yes? I mean, every time we attempt to nudge you in a more... _feminine_ direction, you seem to push back. Now I don't know if all your actions are completely voluntary or not, but we can no longer deny that it is in your nature."

" _And_ ," here, she sighed as if renouncing a rooted belief, "we cannot change anyone's nature without breaking them. You are my daughter, so as far towards the edge as you might push me, I do not wish to break you. And I do want you to be happy. I had a lengthy discussion with your uncle last night. We are united on this front – you lack direction. You're knowledgeable, yes, but you scarcely know what to do with that knowledge. Now I don't precisely know what you do during those long evenings where you wander off with that blasted dog, but I have a suspicion that you may be honing your sword-fighting skills. Don't think I haven't noticed the gashes and gouges on your bedroom furniture. Nor that beautiful Orlesian chandelier that you and Claudia replaced with a crude Ferelden one last year. I _know_ how you broke your arm, young lady, and it was most certainly _not_ from slipping on ice." She stopped momentarily and reined in her emotions. "At any rate, this is something you're quite adept at, or at the very least, desire to be. That is...not a talent that I should overlook. Your uncle, the Chantry scholar that he is, has frequent dealings with the Templars. We think it best that you join the Order."

Evangeline shook her head, _no_. This is _not_ what she wanted.

"Allow me to finish, if you will." she admonished. "You will spend time with him. You will journey with him, you will meet acquaintances within his circle and you will train with them. But you will not do so as a Templar. After a period of a few years, if you feel that you no longer wish to follow that path, you may return here to find your own. _Now_. Are those terms acceptable?"

Evangeline looked to the floor, contemplating this abrupt revelation. "I...will I have to take Lyrium?"

"Don't be foolish. No child of mine will be given Lyrium unless it is of their own volition. Now, if you _become_ a Templar, Lyrium will be an unfortunate necessity. But it is a worthy sacrifice."

"I'm sixteen...I'm uh...too old to join them. They only accept younger children."

Her mother eyed her dryly. "For all your studies in the historical field, you exhibit an alarming paucity when it comes to conventional knowledge. They will accept most if their skills, dedication and loyalty are proven genuine."

"I would be grateful if you would give me some time to think on this," petitioned Evangeline meekly.

Her mother nodded slowly. "I would not expect you to rush headlong into it. But keep this in mind while you ponder, that is – _by far_ – the most favourable option that is on the table."

"Yes, mother." said Evangeline as she walked out and into the night.

* * *

Shutting the gate behind her, Evangeline gratefully inhaled the crisp evening air. In an effort to clear her head of worrying thoughts concerning her future, she looked about for Stroud. He sat on a fence by an old oak tree, kicking his dangling legs in front of him. On spotting Evangeline, he issued a mock salute that caused her mouth to twitch into a smile. She was forgetting already.

He jumped down from the fence and approached her.

"I'm sorry I'm late," she said and then on seeing an instrument that he had in his hand, "what's that?"

"That, my good woman, is a lute."

"I mean, I _know_ it's a lute. But what do you intend to do with it?"

He stared at her for a moment. "I do whatever any lute-strummer does with a lute. Use it as a paddle, a soup spoon, you know."

"Now you're making fun of me."

He feigned surprise. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"I'm sorry. I guess I'm just...uh...nervous."

"Don't be," he took her hand in his and they strolled towards their destination.

* * *

By the time they reached the top of Hallowed Hill, the encampment was deep in the throes of merry-making. The music beckoned to her, and she found her steps quickening. She unclasped her hand from Stroud's and jogged forward. He let her run ahead of him and smiled. He walked contentedly behind her, the lute tucked under one arm and the other hand thrust deep into his pockets.

She watched them from the edge of the campsite, reluctant to make her presence known. Most of the group sat cross-legged or kneeled beside the fire. Some strummed their instruments while others shook their tambourines in rhythm. A few couples danced together, the flickering light of the fire seemed to both illuminate and animate them. A man gently twirled his partner around and in one graceful moment she stooped down to kiss a baby in an elder's lap before returning to the man's arms. And the music...it was unlike anything she had heard before. It was layered, with many a texture, rich and all too intoxicating. The woman who sang – no, that was too simple a word. It was some form of enchantment. It had to be. Her words – in this foreign tongue – encompassed love, regret and melancholy.

Evangeline laughed in delight and turned to Stroud.

"I have read Beskorus of Vyrantium's journal and he describes the food, wine and revelry of the Allsmet, but not once does he appreciate their music." she said.

He pointed to an older woman who had her eyes closed, her head swaying in time to the music, "See her there? She's their Seer. Their leader. There are precious few of them outside Rivain."

Evangeline was not surprised to hear it. Rivain's society was a matriarchal one and they revered their pantheist ancestors who were predominantly female. The Chantry's influence never quite took root with these Northerners, and she was glad of it.

"What's a Seer?" she asked.

"They're...well, to put it bluntly, they're hedge mages. They allow themselves to be possessed by spirits in order for the spirit to impart its knowledge to them."

"Isn't that...dangerous?"

"It can be. But somehow there are fewer incidents of demonic consequences than I hear of in oh, say, the Circle Tower. Perhaps our Chantry and Templars could learn from them."

The older woman opened her eyes and nodded in their direction. They approached her and she brought two fingers to her head and then to her heart in greeting. Stroud mirrored the gesture. They sat down beside her.

"You brought a friend?" she said, her accent curiously alluring.

He nodded. "Alice, Evangeline. Evangeline, Alice."

"Of course you know that is not my real name, but it helps me meld with society's niceties." Alice's wizened face scrutinized Evangeline's. "What a curious countenance you have." she remarked. "Is it a coincidence...or deliberate, I wonder."

"I'm sorry?"

Alice waved a hand in dismissal. "Oh don't mind me. The ramblings of an old crone."

"Your music is...captivating," complimented Evangeline. "What is she singing about?"

"The loss of innocence. It forces people to change and harden. You have to know what to keep and what to let go."

"Is there a tale behind it?"

"Curious one, isn't she?" smiled Alice as she glanced at Stroud. "Yes, girl, there is _always_ a tale. Far more complex than the song tells of it, but it is a good one nonetheless. She is singing of a young Elven warrior mage during the ancient times. Long before the destruction of the Elvhenan and before the elves had their immortality stripped from them by the Shemlen. The boy was virtuous and pure of heart, and he was a mage to be reckoned with. When he was older – not too much older than the pair of you, his consciousness slipped into the Fade as he dreamed. There, he met a young spirit of Wisdom. Who also happened to possess the form of a beautiful woman. Tragedies almost singularly begin with the impetuousness of youth _. Pfeh_. Young people."

Alice paused to take a sip of wine from a chalice before she went on. "Naturally, the lad fell in love and he took to sleeping frequently to meet her in dreams and spent as much time as possible with her. Sleeping draughts were no longer enough. He would have gladly taken his own life simply to be with her forever, but she was afraid that his essence might scatter in the Fade as it did with many of the deceased. One day, he discovered magic that would allow him to slumber for long periods of time without need for food or water. He meticulously performed the ritual, was successful, and slept for an entire century. He was happier there with her than he ever could have been on this earth. But happiness comes with a price. Something fractured his slumber and he opened his eyes. He woke to a world where Elves were being slaughtered and corralled – all in the name of religion. And he had done nothing to stop it. He discovered that a few of his own – immortals like him – had survived. Guilt-ridden and desperate to protect what was left of his kind, he sealed them off from this world."

"And the spirit that he had fallen in love with?" questioned Stroud.

"Every time he looked at her, she reminded him of the death of his people. He knew that it was of his own volition that he chose to be with her in the Fade and he knew that even had he been awake and present; he may not have been able to prevent such genocide. But now she reminded him of great regret and it pained him to be with her. His visits grew less frequent until he eventually stopped seeing her altogether. He wanted to die, but was tied to this mortal life, and he chose it as penance for his selfishness. For when the time comes, he is the only one who can bring the Elvhenan back."

"He sealed his people off?" asked Evangeline. "That sounds remarkably similar to Falon'Din. The trickster god. Some people call him the Dread Wolf."

"So they do. It could be one of many interpretations." conceded Alice.

" _Right._ " began Stroud, reaching for the lute. "Enough melancholy and more merriment."

He began to strum along to the music. As he sang, he gazed directly at Evangeline. She coloured as he stared at her but could not look away. She couldn't interpret the words, but it was quite obvious that they were meant for her. A light breeze rustled his hair playfully and she wondered what it would feel like to run her fingers through it. Everything about this evening bewitched her.

After the song was over, he grabbed her by the hand and pulled her to her feet. "Balter with me." he said.

Evangeline shook her head, confused. "I'm sorry – _what?_ "

"I'm not that good of a dancer. Rather artless, in fact. Would you believe that there is actually a term for my blundering about?"

She laughed and acquiesced. He put an arm around her waist and hers on his shoulder. They moved in time to the music.

"You balter rather splendidly, Alec." she commented.

"Or perhaps you are a balterer too." he teased. "One balterer isn't capable of judging another balterer. Or is it _balterist_...?"

She chuckled.

"Is your family content to have you run off into the wild blue yonder like this? Especially after what happened yesterday." he asked.

"Ostwick is a decent town. And running off into blue yonders has become somewhat customary. As for what happened yesterday...the situation is being resolved. I think."

"Where is your Qunari friend today? No training?" he asked.

"He is in Kirkwall. He should return within the week. You spoke with him?"

"A little. He was quite proud of you that day. I think that let his guard down, and after you headed home he told me little bit about you. So he's been teaching _and_ training you for five years? Are you never going to tell your family of your exploits?"

She looked away, not too comfortable to discuss the topic. He caught on quickly and said with a smile, "Okay, okay. Let's talk about something else. Let's see...if I recall correctly, I was supposed to tell you how I acquired that dagger, no?"

"Yes you were."

"It was my grandmother's actually. She was Rivaini. She married a Chevalier from Val Royeaux and they settled there. They then had my father who followed in the footsteps of his own."

"You gave me a _family heirloom_?" she exclaimed, almost tripping over her own feet as they danced.

"It belongs in the hands of skilled fighter. One better than I. _And_...I suppose that I didn't want you to despise me forever."

"But..."

"I _want_ you to have it."

A woman with a baby got up and started dancing with the toddler as the music grew livelier.

"So, if you're grandmother was Rivaini, you can understand what they're singing...?"

"Not everything. There are different dialects. Dairsmuid vernacular is quite simple to pick up if you're familiar with some of the root words. What they speak in Llomerryn is slightly harder. There are masculine and feminine articles. But...you're talking to an amateur. If you want to get into semantics, I know a few lexicologists who might be able to indulge you."

She looked at him in wonder. "You seem to know so much. Tell me this, that song you were singing earlier though, do you know what it meant?"

He glanced away and gave a wan smile. "Uh...I might."

Evangeline looked at him expectantly. "And...?"

"It's something I would rather _do_ , instead of tell you."

"Oh..." she began, as he brought a hand up to her cheek and stroked it. She closed her eyes at the touch. Her heart thudded in her chest. She was certain the entire world could hear it.

"You are so unlike anyone I've ever met. You inspire me. All the colours...everything seems more vivid with you here. To actually go back to what it was before is unthinkable. I want to know you, and I want you to know me."

"Okay," she said, for lack of better response. She finally opened her eyes allowed herself to get lost in his own.

"Evie girl, I hope you wouldn't mind terribly if I kissed you right now...?"

"Okay."

They stopped dancing as he leaned in, clasped his hands tenderly behind her head and pressed his lips against her mouth. The contact was neither rough nor gentle. A restrained longing lay behind it. Her entire body came alive and she allowed emotion to guide her hands up against the back of his neck and through his dark hair.

They would not have stopped to breathe had it not been for the uproarious clapping and whistling from their small audience. They parted, both abashed, and feigned tremendous interest in the ground. As they returned to their spot beside the fire amidst the dwindling applause, some of the men rose and clapped Stroud on the back. She sat down with his arm around her, and as he tried to teach her some Rivaini songs, he would occasionally steal a kiss in between.

* * *

This was the second time he found himself in the Trevelyans' parlour and as Elena ran down the stairs, she called out to him. "Cullen, I can't find her anywhere. She did get home rather late last night. I know that for a fact. She often climbs the trellis to her window and thinks that none of us know. There's soil in her bedroom."

"That's okay. Maybe I'll come back another time."

Frowning, Elena opened the front door for him. Movement in the courtyard caught both their attention. Evangeline and Stroud stood beneath a copse of birch trees several yards away. She appeared to give him something. He accepted and said some things to her that neither Cullen nor Elena could discern. He then kissed her for what seemed like an eternity. At least, it appeared that way to Cullen.

"Oh, Cullen..." said Elena. She glanced at him. He looked crestfallen. "I..."

"I suppose," he said finally, "he is the better man."

"I am so, _so_ sorry,"

"As am I." He walked in the opposite direction and left.


	6. Something New

Evangeline had spent most of the day with Stroud. They visited the clifftop where she had first seen Asogen and ate their lunch with their feet dangling off the edge. She hadn't told him about the circumstances of their meeting; she needed to keep that memory for herself. They talked about a great many things. Or at least, Stroud did. And she was content to listen. He was well-traveled and well-versed in the customs of other nations. Like her, he had a voracious appetite for the foreign and exotic. And like her, he was daring and prone to sudden fits of impetuousness. As Asogen had been for her in the past, Stroud had entered her life as this glorious well of knowledge. He was a difficult person to resist falling in love with.

He had insisted on competing in the Grand Tourney much to the delight of his Chevalier father and consternation of his mother. But that was about as far ahead as he cared to plan. Like many parents, his own had – what he believed to be banal – dreams for him, but he was headstrong and would have none of it. That was a fate suited for, in his exact words: humdrum, narrow-minded buffoons whose ideal existence was akin to being rooted in one place until death and decay took them. Well, he was a little on edge that day and perhaps his language was a tad...harsh. He was a force of nature that had little room for mundane musings and would not suffer the company of those who did. Once he reached the age of seventeen, he gave himself completely and utterly to this nomadic lifestyle.

In the beginning, Stroud journeyed to Rivain and remained there for several months. His parents refused to fund his exploits so he joined a crew of fishermen in order to earn some coin. The experience was liberating. He was answerable to no one save himself. He wandered paths that others neglected. Participated in the drunken revelry that was the Allsmet. And come the end of the day, he would raise a glass of strong ale as he crooned along to their tavern songs. He even managed to find himself betrothed to some farmer's daughter from Llomeryn by accident. He traveled to Llomeryn and offered an explanation and apology to the farmer. But this yielded no results, and in fact, it had managed to make the situation worse. The farmer – already quite inebriated – came at him with a rake, accusing him of defiling his daughter's purity and other such nonsense. Stroud had no choice but to clock the man out cold. He fled back his little shack and decided that this was the push he needed to venture somewhere else.

"So where did you go next?" asked Evangeline.

Stroud leaned back on one elbow and bit into an apple. "Ferelden, actually. Mother despised the place. Which meant it had to be interesting. Headed to Redcliffe and worked in their Chantry for a spell. Nothing priestly or anything. Swept the floors, dusted the shelves. Nothing too exciting there save for a particularly saucy redhead in a tavern."

Evangeline looked at him sharply.

"But you, my dear," he said, as he raised himself up to kiss her, "are far more pleasing to look at."

"Oh, go soak your head." she said smiling despite herself. "Did you always travel alone?"

"Not always. Some roads were a little too dangerous to wander alone. I hitched rides with merchants, farmers. Even a traveling circus once."

" _Really?_ "

"Cross my heart. There was," he started to chuckle as he recalled a fond memory, "...there was this one chap who claimed to have two heads. Of course the second one was nothing but a very realistic prosthetic attachment. We stopped briefly in Lothering to entertain some children. And there were these nugs that one of the other performers had. Somehow one of them had squirmed their way into this false head. So, completely oblivious to it, this chap puts his 'head' on and not five minutes into his little routine, it starts to move. Now the children don't think it's strange because they think it's his real head. But Barnaby..." Stroud doubled over trying to keep from laughing, "...Barnaby is _terrified_. He turns slowly to look at this head and it begins to rock back and forth – like it's possessed. He starts to scream: _Maferath's balls! Maferath's balls!_ And then he tears the head off his shoulder and it plonks down in front of all the children."

Evangeline's face lit up as she succumbed to his addictive laughter.

She leaned back down onto the grass and looked up at passing clouds. "It sounds...incredible. Everything you've done, everything you've seen."

Stroud sat up suddenly and came close up against her. Before Evangeline realized what was happening, he had climbed on top of her and stared down at her intently.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"We could do it too, you know. Run away together. It would be so much better than seeing all of it alone."

"I have obligations. This thing with my uncle – "

"So are you going to do it then? Become a pseudo-Templar?"

"I think so. Yes. I suppose I ought to give it a shot. And I _will_ get to travel."

He brought his head closer to hers and pressed his forehead against her own. She closed her eyes and breathed in the nearness of him.

"I could come with you. Go wherever you go."

Evangeline chuckled. " _You?_ You wouldn't be able to stay still in one place for very long. I'll give you a week before you'd want to cast off moorings."

"I'm not as flighty as all that. Besides, you running off to get a taste of Templar life – where would that leave us?"

"Oh, so there's an _**us**_ now, is there?"

He bent lower and lightly brushed his lips against hers. "There is most definitely an _**us**_."

Stroud started to kiss her, slowly at first and then, as their bodies responded to one another, he found it far too challenging to stop. His kisses grew more fervent and his lips traced the paths of her chin down to the curve of her neck. She sighed softly with the intensity of it all but brought her hands up against him.

"We can't," she whispered with her eyes still shut, not even sure if she meant what she said.

"I know." But he didn't stop kissing her.

"We can't. Not here."

"Where then?" his mouth ventured lower.

" _Please_. I'm not ready yet."

He pulled back and hung his head. "I'm sorry, Evie. I just got caught up in...you."

She grinned. "I know. I did too. In you, I mean. Not me."

They laughed together. He rolled off of her and gazed out into the sea before them. "I've made up my mind, though."

"About...?" she said as she sat up and smoothed down her crinkled shirt.

"I'll go with you. Wherever you go. You can go do whatever it is that Templars do and I'll find a job in the meantime. It's really not that difficult."

"You can't give it up for me!" she exclaimed.

"Give _what_ up? My inheritance? The Chevalier my father wanted me to be? I gave that up three years ago, Evie girl. My future is a blank canvas. I can do whatever I want. And your protests will fall on deaf ears unless you tell me, right here and now, that you don't care for me."

How could she _not_ feel anything? He had changed so much. He smoothed her edges. Made her explore a softer side that she had no idea she possessed. Evangeline remained silent and smiled.

He smirked. "I thought so. Now come on," he pulled her to her feet, "let's get you home before your family starts to think I'm making a dishonest woman out of you."

* * *

As she walked through the gate and into the courtyard, she felt an apprehension dissolve within her. Staying with her uncle and learning from the Templars didn't seem as troubling now that Stroud had decided to come with her. She would miss her sisters terribly, especially her Elena, but him being near at hand would help fill part of that void at the very least. As to whether she would tell her mother of Stroud's decision – she wasn't certain, but left the choice for another time.

She climbed up the steps to the large oak door and pushed it open. It was abnormally dark inside. None of the oil lamps were lit and the silence she stepped into was eerie. She walked through the parlor and into the sitting room. In the soft moonlight that streamed through a large window, she saw two figures huddled against the wall; almost leaning into it.

"What's going on here?" Evangeline asked, her voice shattering the quiet.

One figure leapt back as the second squealed. It was Annette and Claudia.

"You scared me half to death!" Annette hissed harshly.

"Why are we whispering? And for pity's sake, why have you turned out all the lights?"

"Keep your voice down," urged Claudia. She reached out, grasped her sister's arm and yanked her closer. She had an empty glass held up against the wall. "Listen!"

Evangeline placed her ear at the one end. "What am I listening for?"

"Elena's in there! With Elliot!"

"That scrawny little thing from Kirkwall?" asked Evangeline, scrunching her eyebrows together.

"He's not scrawny, and he's taller than you!" said Annette. "Mind your manners. And where have you been gone all day?"

Evangeline stuck her tongue out at Annette and resumed listening.

"We think he's about to propose – he was in there for a solid _hour_ with mother earlier." explained Claudia.

"Let's not jump to conclusions," began Annette's bothersome rationale. "He could be..."

"A man does not meet with someone's mother in private, and then with his beau to ask her to go out for tea and cake," corrected Claudia. "Trust me. I know."

"Just how many proposals have you had, Claudia?" interrogated a shocked Annette.

"Never you mind."

"How many? I demand to know!" persisted her eldest sister.

"Will the both of you please... _shut up!_ " exclaimed Evangeline in a sharp whisper. "I can't hear a blasted thing!"

Evangeline was quite right. Try as she might, her strained hearing was met with a silence that she deemed all too bleak. Either the imbecile was down on one knee, begging for Elena's hand in marriage or she had utterly rejected him. Evangeline fervently hoped that it was the latter. Surely her Elena knew better than to marry a bookkeeper's son from Kirkwall. What prospects did he have? Other than to bookkeep...? What a dreary existence. And Kirkwall! The city was a grim place, and with the newly-settled Qunari Arishok there, it had become a storm waiting to break.

"I'm going in." said Evangeline. Firmly. Decisively.

"Evangeline," began Annette in the sternest voice she could muster, "you have absolutely no right to go – "

"Too late." she said, looking at her sister darkly, as she stormed into the study, nostrils all a-flare.

* * *

She flung the door open, her sights set firmly on the red-headed simpleton who was holding her beloved Elena's hands in his own.

"Step away from her, _basra Vashedan_. Your presence here disrupts _asit tal-eb_." stated Evangeline melodramatically as she stalked towards them. She purposefully stepped in between this interloper and her Elena.

"Evie!" cried Elena in surprise.

Evangeline stood up to the taller individual, his face inches away from hers. "What designs do you have on my sister's future? What deceptions?"

"I...uh...nothing!" cried the stupefied boy.

" _Coward!_ "

"Evie!"

"If you choose to wed my sister, then you will win her favour through physical contest. I hereby challenge you to a duel with all intact laws of judicial combat." Evangeline stared unflinchingly at the terrified boy. He gazed back at her with an emotion tempered with great trepidation and alarm. He took a step back. But she closed in on him with dogged determination. Within the span of a few seconds, he was up against the door of the study and Evangeline's darkened countenance. There was no way out.

"Evangeline!" repeated Elena as she placed a firm hand on her sister's shoulder. "Leave the boy be! I said yes!"

Evangeline continued to stare him down.

"I said _yes_!"

Evangeline looked to one side. Had her hearing suddenly become impaired?

"What...?" she said, with considerable pain in her eyes as she turned towards Elena.

" _I have accepted his proposal!_ "

She loosely motioned at the boy in incredulity. "This... _thing_? He... _bookkeeps_! That's all he'll ever do! He'll not be able to give you the life you deserve. You'll be stuck in Kirkwall forever."

All of a sudden, the study door was flung open, almost knocking Elliot over. He leapt to one side, not too dissimilar to a frightened rabbit.

"What is going on here?" exclaimed her mother's voice. She took one look around the room before her glower settled on Evangeline. Her mother closed her eyes and sighed in weariness as she raised her hand to her forehead. "Oh, Evangeline."

Elena, her eyes stinging with tears, fled the room. They could hear her footsteps clattering across the hallway as she made her way to anywhere-but-here.

"Elliot," said Evangeline's mother, "perhaps it would be best if you went home and returned tomorrow."

"Lady Trevelyan, Elena – " he protested.

"It's alright. If she has agreed to your offer, I can do nothing but wish you both tremendous – "

"Mother!" wailed Evangeline.

She shoved a threatening index finger in Evangeline's direction. It pinned the girl in place and had shut her mouth. "Elliot. Do me a favour and go home. I'll deal with this one."

Evangeline hung her head as she heard the boy walk out. Her mother shut the door to the study and approached her daughter.

To her amazement, she felt the soft hand of her mother's palm hold her cheek. "Evie. My sweet, silly, utterly ridiculous child." Evangeline looked up to see her mother's face – lined with worry, love and a sadness she couldn't comprehend. "Before your dear father died, he told me that you were going to be a handful. He'd realized as much when he first placed a sword in your hands. You didn't take well to instruction. But I suppose that he, in his wisdom, had found a way handle you." She smiled as she remembered. "He said that he told you what a good sword-fighter would have done to handle their blade, and you had huffed in his face. So then he left you to your own devices. He watched you from afar, trusting you to make the correct choice...and, you know what? You did."

Evangeline said nothing.

"I know how much you care for your sister. And I know how much she cares for you. She loves Elliot. She _truly_ , truly does. The boy might not be exactly what you had in mind, but he does love your sister tremendously. I would not have approved of the betrothal had I believed otherwise. So...all I can do is advise you to apologize to your sister and have faith in her choices. Maker knows, she has done so for you on numerous occasions. But, if you choose not to do so, I will not hold you accountable. You will have to answer to your own conscience."

And in a sudden gesture that melted her heart, Evangeline flung her arms tightly round her mother and put her head on her breast. She tried to keep from crying. The last time her child had held her like this...she could not even recall it.

"You don't play fair, mama." murmured Evangeline.

Her mother put a gentle hand around Evangeline's head, held her close and breathed in deeply – savoring the rare moment.

They remained that way, mother and child, for several minutes. Until finally, Evangeline broke free and went to find her sister.

* * *

She walked into Elena's room with her head hung low, much like Bunty would have, had he wrecked another priceless heirloom or dug up all the newly-planted bulbs in the courtyard.

Elena sat on a seat by the bay window that overlooked Ostwick's coast. She held a silk cushion tightly to her chest. A kind breeze sifted through Elena's satin golden hair. She was an angel, thought Evangeline to herself. Her angel. And now she was going to be someone else's.

She meekly sat across from her sister and tried to catch her eye. But Elena looked away, into moon-reflected waters.

"I don't want to lose you," began Evangeline. "I guess that, ultimately, I don't really want anything to change."

"Everything changes." remarked Elena.

"I _know_ that. And yet, I can't seem to find it in myself to accept it."

Elena looked into her little sister's eyes. "But _you've_ changed."

"How do you mean?"

"With Stroud. He's changed you. You smile when you think no one's looking. You get this dopey-looking grin and act all starry-eyed when you think of him."

At the mention of his name, Evangeline's face broke into a wide smile. "Okay. You're right. Is that how you feel about Elliot?"

Elena inhaled and exhaled slowly. "Not...really. It isn't exactly a romance for the ages – like your tales would have you believe. Elliot didn't sweep me off my feet quite like your young man did. But he's kind and courageous, in his own quiet way. His character has an inner strength that not many catch on to. Girls have dismissed him before – because of it. But he is a beautiful person and once he allows you to see it, then it becomes magical. He really is quite the romantic. And the man is loyal to a fault."

"But don't his... _prospects_ bore you?"

"Why? Because he isn't as well-traveled as your Alec?"

"I...didn't say that," said a hesitant Evangeline, "I just want you to see the world."

Elena smiled knowingly. "I don't need to see the world. I'm content with what has been offered me."

Evangeline leaned in closer to her sister. "How much _do_ you love him?"

"Very much."

Evangeline sighed in weary resignation. "Okay. If you love him so, then I shall learn to as well."

Elena smiled affectionately at her sister. "Oh, I almost forgot," she said as she jumped off her seat and rushed to her desk. She opened her drawer and pulled something out. Walking back to her sister, she placed the item into her open palm.

A slight smile played across Evangeline's lips as she examined the small, stuffed bear in her hands. "I _knew_ you made it."

"I had nothing to do with it."

Evangeline looked up at her quizzically.

"It was your Cullen." explained Elena. She brushed a loose wisp of black hair from her little sister's forehead. "A lot of things burn brightly in this world, Evie girl. But their time is fleeting and sometimes...as they burn, they scorch things around them. But as we stare, transfixed at their light, we miss things that possess more strength and more meaning. That night – when you were already quite in the throes of a drunken stupor; I had to leave you alone because the kitchen demanded my immediate attention. Cullen was there. I told him to watch over you. You refused to be escorted to your bedroom, so he sat with you in the stairwell until you feel asleep. And even then, he remained with you there until I returned. I came back two hours later...and I saw him holding you, with your head against his shoulder fast asleep. He carried you up to your bed and said his goodbyes."

Evangeline leaned back into a cushion. "Why are you telling me this?"

"You needed to know. They were the actions of a good person...and too often do such actions slip by unnoticed."


	7. In Flux

**Kirkwall**

**3 Days Later**

The smell of rotting food and various forms of...refuse permeated his senses. He swatted the flies in his path to one side as walked up the steps of the stark, stone Qunari compound. Well, if they wanted to get technical about it, this land belonged to Viscount Dumar, who had preemptively gifted it to the Qunari when they were ship-wrecked here several years ago.

Some of Kirkwall's inhabitants – especially those who were ardent Chantry-supporters feared the ramifications of this gesture. They knew of Par Vollen and of the Qun. Fear, if not assuaged, often elicited resentment and eventually hate. And it would all go downhill from there. The Qunari were not a barbaric race, who butchered people for sport as the Chantry would have people believe, but they weren't exactly tolerant either. What it ultimately came down to was the tenets of the Qun. Any deviations from its doctrine, any heresy from within or without, would not be condoned and its enemies would be dispensed with as efficiently as possible.

Then there were others – predominantly Elven slaves – who saw the Arishok's arrival as a blessing and means of escape. Potential converts had become quite aware that if they proved their worth and accepted the Qun's teachings as law, this would sever ties to past-beliefs that had bound their freedom. And in this indirect manner, the Chantry's hold on Kirkwall was strained again.

Whichever way Asogen looked at it, the Arishok – and his people, had embroiled themselves in a situation that would resolve itself only through violence. They were sitting atop a giant powder keg of volatile emotional ramifications; poverty, greed, exploitation, megalomania and all that remained was the spark of religious fanaticism to set it off. Oh, what a joy it was to be back in Kirkwall.

Asogen stopped before the gate, where more armed Qunari guards crossed threatening spears in front of him, preventing him from passing.

They bowed in apology, "Beresaad," they acknowledged, "The Arishok is in...talks."

Asogen nodded and waited patiently outside. He always thought it amusing how his fellow soldiers referred to him as _Beresaad_. Granted, technically he had begun as such and was one aspect of its whole, but he was _Ben-Hassrath_ now, and it was a secret he had to keep from many. Especially those of lower rank.

He paced for a few minutes, gazing up at the docks and the Waking Sea occasionally, when this peaceful reverie was shattered by a searing sound, the clank of metal hitting stone, followed by two thuds. Asogen shut his eyes slowly. He knew what it was, of course. There were instances where he had wrought the noise himself. But it hadn't made it any easier to hear.

The guards raised their spears. "The Arishok will see you now."

* * *

The raw power of the Arishok always caught him off guard. Uncharacteristically wary, his eyes were drawn to the Qunari. Red war-paint was streaked across his shoulders and chest – the markings were both practical and symbolic. They were an amalgam of herbs; meant to heal and provide resistance to specific poisons as they were absorbed through the epidermis. They were also adorned to instill fear in his adversaries; the crimson hue embodied strength and courage. The blood of others nor his own would not deter him from his purpose. It was a necessary constant. But there was also a darker stain – blotchy and fresh. Spots of it freckled the Arishok's face before he wiped it off with a rag.

Asogen turned to see Qunari guard carry off a body to dispense of it. The corpse was headless.

Asogen cast the sight out of mind and kneeled before his leader.

The Arishok gestured for him to rise. " _Shanedan_ , Asogen. I once again bid you welcome to this... _this place_. The people of this city – they disgust me. I have yet to find one who is selfless and honourable."

"It would be wise, however, not to antagonize them." said Asogen.

The Arishok, especially _this_ Arishok, did not take kindly to be disagreed with. But he maintained respect for Asogen. The two had served alongside one another in many battles, even before he ascended to assume the role of one third of the Qunari Triumvirate. He was well aware of Asogen's loyalty and quiet determination. His words were one of the few he would consider.

"I should point out, old friend, that he did antagonize me first."

"Nevertheless, I feel that the situation here is a delicate one. Violence could easily initiate a war that we did not come here to cause."

The Arishok nodded. "There is truth in what you say. But would you not agree that this cesspit of scum and villainy is deserving of cleansing?"

"Who was he?" asked Asogen, nodding in the direction of the body that had recently been hauled off.

"Nobody of consequence."

"If that man has ties to the Chantry, his death would precipitate our circumstances," warned Asogen.

"He is a brigand. A mercenary. Nothing more. Not even a native of Kirkwall. He had information that he refused to part with. Which brings me to why you were summoned here. You have spent five years in Ostwick. It was rumoured that she had a lover there. Has she returned to him?"

"No. He is a fisherman now. And it would appear that he knows nothing of the tome."

"Under...duress; is there a possibility that he would reveal any information?"

Asogen reflected on this. Torture was never a reliable source of information; it showed ineptitude and cowardice. Any tormented being would confess to a myriad of absurd accusations should he be pushed far enough. "It would gain us nothing and would be a waste of resources." he said, finally.

"What would you advise? We have wasted far too much in pursuit of this...thief. But the stolen tome is far too valuable to leave in her hands. She thinks herself a queen among pirates now. She has at her command an equally imbecilic yet loyal crew. Which seas they sail and tarnish, however, I do not yet know."

"We should leave some of our men here – Beresaad that you trust, who will inform you should any trace of her emerge. And we should leave Kirkwall. Our ship is rebuilt and we have suffered no losses here. We should count ourselves fortunate and walk away."

The Arishok leaned forward, rested his elbow on one knee, his strong jaw in his hand. He contemplated Aosgen's words. "This city of filth…it deserves cleansing. And I am not yet ready to give up the hunt for her."

"Are there no – more _engaging_ – matters in Par Vollen that deserve your attention?"

"The Tome of Koslun is a precious property of the Qun. It is not a simple artifact – it is _our_ scripture. She sullies its meaning merely by handling it."

"With respect, Arishok," at this, Asogen bowed his head in reverence, "we are ill-equipped to battle an entire city. And we should consider that Kirkwall may be beyond redemption."

The Arishok snorted. He was irritated at last. Asogen's counsel was wise – but only to a degree. His underling enacted a softer logic that did not befit the Qun. The Arishok thought of this rationale as circumventive and fruitless. "While your advice may be found favourable in the den that is a human court, Asogen, it will not aid us here. This land," he waved a large hand about their environs, "was bestowed to us. It is a sign. A sign that some are ready to accept discipline and order. Perhaps we should address this need."

Asogen's heart sank. This was bad. Their presence would, sooner or later, lead to some form of uprising. He was sure of it. At best, he could caution the Arishok and advise against impulse. "I...understand. But I encourage patience, and I urge that you do not strike a blow against these people unless they make the first move. And it should be a profound one. Should the insult be a slight against our people, no matter how wounded our pride, we should let the matter pass. Show them that we are their betters. Will you not consider what I have said?"

The Arishok smiled despite himself. Asogen had a talent for rooting out what stirred people's emotions; what made them tick, what rendered them compliant. He was _Ben-Hassrath_ after all. Most Qunari thought themselves better than those outside the Qun, and when given the choice between fight and flight, they often chose the former, for nothing came close to a glorious death. But the Arishok had once believed strongly in calculated restraint in favour of violence, and Asogen had been cunning enough to appeal to that old tendency.

"Very well, Asogen. I shall do so for your sake. But your time in Ostwick is at an end. You are needed by your brothers here."

He dismissed Asogen.

* * *

_He dreamed of the child, not as who she was now, but how she had been when they first met. Resilient and simultaneously eager. She was an impulsive thing, but somehow she had allowed him to mold her into a powerful weapon. One worthy of the Qun._

_Asogen dreamed that he had brought her to Kirkwall, and that she now stood before the Arishok. A dark sense of foreboding had begun to come over him. He searched for it in the faces of his fellow Beresaad, but their expressions revealed no secret intents, no malice. The ground suddenly began to shake. It trembled at first, and then grew as it steadily rocked the compound. The tremours brought everyone to their hands and knees and they struggled to steady themselves. Eventually, the disruption ceased and everyone – save for Asogen – returned to what they had been doing with no concern for what had just happened._

_Fear grew in his heart, and he looked to the Waking Sea. An immense wave lay in the distance. As far away as it was, its crest lay high above the surface of the sea. It was closing in swiftly as it hurtled towards them, and it was...massive. Hundreds of feet tall. They would never make it far enough inland to survive it._

_But he had to try._

_Asogen rushed towards the child and swept her up under one arm. He galloped faster; everything buzzed by him in a blur. He could hear the roar of crashing water behind him. As he ran, he looked around for something solid, something with deep roots that might help them survive. But the streets were barren. There was nothing. No trees, no people. The wave would pound them into the ground, and if the force did not leave them unconscious, it would suffocate them. To not be able to breathe..._

He woke up with a start. He stared up into nothingness, as he lay in the dark, breathing heavily. It was said that Qunari rarely dream, and this nightmare...it shook his core. All of a sudden, he decisively stood and sat down at a desk in his quarters. He lit a candle and searched for some blank vellum, an ink-well and a quill. He was not one for words, but there were times where they would be demanded of him. This was one of those times.

* * *

**1 Month Later**

"Evangeline!" cried her mother's voice from below the balcony. "Your uncle is here! Do please hurry! The carriage will be here any minute!"

Evangeline stared at the parchment, fingering its thick, course surface. She hadn't heard from Asogen in a month. He could have taken ill, or been wounded...or even died and she would have had no way of knowing. There was no way of reaching him. And, just this minute, a messenger had brought this to her along with an unopened parcel. It was from Kirkwall, he had said.

Parcel in hand, she hastily smoothed the rolled parchment and began to devour his words hungrily.

_Imekari,_

_Forgive me for referring to you as a child, but that is how I will forever see you. I mean no disrespect. It is a term of affection that I reserve solely for you._

_My absence must worry you greatly. I write this now for several reasons. The first is to tell you to cease worrying. I am well and in good health. The Arishok here in Kirkwall requires my presence. We came to your shores in search of someone who has taken something valuable from my people. This item has yet to be recovered, and as the Arishok seeks to address other concerns, I will aid him in his pursuits._

_Secondly, you are an impulsive thing so I urge you not to follow me here. Kirkwall reeks of rotting garbage and wet dog. Ostwick is fortunate to not possess a similar stench. I also urge you to refrain from committing to the Qun at this juncture. I understand your curiousity, but do not allow it to grow into anything more. At this point in time, such a decision is reckless and dangerous. I would never admit this to my brothers and sisters of the Qun, but our presence here in Kirkwall brings instability. I fear that this may develop into something more violent but I also pray that we will soon recover the artifact we seek. In doing so, we can return to Par Vollen without bloodshed._

_Thirdly, remember well all that I have taught you. Reason before action. A desire to fight does not always demonstrate strength. Keep your emotions in check. This involves restraining the raging bull – flaring nostrils are indicative of your quick temper. (Do not roll your eyes at that instruction. I can feel you doing so.) Always watch that left flank. If you have checked once already, do so again. And lastly, when circumstances leave you with no alternative but to meet violence with violence, and if those you engage in combat with are merciless, show them none. Fight with the furor I know you can. Always be mindful of your surroundings, give yourself to the flow of battle and not your emotions. Use your mind to your advantage._

_Lastly, I have sent a gift for you along with this letter. It was given to me by my daughter. She fell in battle before she could become Beresaad. We are not permitted to remain attached to our offspring for very long, but she was...special. And I carry her memory in my heart as I do yours._

_Perhaps we shall see one another before the end. I pray that we do._

_Be well, brave and wise._

_Asogen_

_P.S. Do not come to Kirkwall. I shall kick you out of its gates myself if you do._

* * *

Evangeline raced down the stairs as she carefully tucked the precious letter inside her jacket. She thrust the unopened parcel into a small sack of meager but necessary belongings.

Her mother waited out for her on the terrace. She stopped abruptly at the foot of the stairs, and allowed her eyes to rest on her surroundings. She had read books about people who'd had to leave behind all they loved, and how they had expected everything to remain unchanged if and when they returned. In some tales, they had managed to come back to ruin and loss. In others, their homes and loved ones were unaltered and safe. But despite it all, everything had changed because of the difference their travails had made within their souls.

Everything her eyes touched in the here and now...all that would be different when she returned.

She remembered the salons her mother and aunt had thrown. Claudia, beautiful, immaculate Claudia readying herself for dances with her many suitors. Annette huffing at Evangeline's tactless behavior and rolling her eyes at Claudia's capricious nature. And Elena...

The front door opened and Elena stepped in, shutting the door behind her. Her golden hair was pinned back; soft locks that refused to be tamed hung down by her ears. Her blue eyes were puffy and red. She blinked something out of them.

"I know you said goodbye to us last night. I know you didn't want to see us today and – "

"I hate goodbyes." mumbled Evangeline, looking away. "Let's just do a see-you-later kind of deal, okay?"

"Evie girl," pleaded her sister.

Without looking directly at her, Evangeline could tell that Elena's lower lip was trembling. She could, in her mind's eye, see tears welling up in her sister's eyes.

"...I had to see you one more time," insisted Elena.

A knot formed in Evangeline's throat. She tried to fixate on a vase of tulips at the other end of the room. She made a valiant effort to hold down an escaping sob until she exploded like a sputtering, blubbering idiot.

Elena half-laughing and half-crying ran to her little sister with open arms. "You stupid, silly thing," she said fondly as the pair held each other tight and wept together.

"I'm getting boogers and snot all over your dress," wailed Evangeline in between sobs.

"I'll never wash it then."

Evangeline hit her sister playfully. She grasped Elena's hand and held it close to her chest. "What am I going to do without you?"

"You will be brave, and you will be glorious. You're going to make us all so proud."

"Or I could royally muck it all up." offered Evangeline. "In which case I shall come home in disgrace to you, and we can all be together again."

"Oh, Evie, you mustn't. You have to try. You have a gift that many men would give up so much for. Promise me you'll give it your best? That's all we can ask of you and all you can ask of yourself." She sighed and attempted to give Evangeline an encouraging smile. "And swear to me that you won't let Alec deter you from your training. I'm sure he's a nice boy, but he's impulsive and, well, you know."

Evangeline nodded in comprehension. "I know. Two impulsive fools doth not a good...uh...something make. I'll try my best to remain level-headed."

Elena wiped several tears from her little sister's face. "That's my girl. And promise me that you'll tell mother about him should your relationship with him get...serious?"

She nodded.

"And don't get yourself hurt." added Elena. "And I realize that you will have many duties, but if you could make it in time for my wedding next year, it would make me so happy."

"Just don't put me in a dress." sniffed Evangeline. And then, "I'll do my best to be there."

"Take good care of Bunty, too. You really are fortunate, you know – I didn't think they'd permit him to come along."

"With his antics, they might change their mind sooner than we anticipate."

Evangeline leaned in for one final embrace. She closed her eyes; holding her sister close, breathing in the perfumed scent of her hair. She clung to this moment, carving it into a memory that she would reserve for lonelier, darker times.

 _Goodbye, my Elena. Be safe_.

* * *

**3 Months Later**

**Redcliffe**

The stone antechamber was devoid of windows. The masonry was quite old yet maintained a sense of majesty, and the intricate wall sconces that illuminated the elaborate tapestries that adorned the walls. He sat there, admiring the workmanship of the small castle, when a young Templar stepped out of the room.

"Bann Trevelyan? Knight Commander Biedrin will see you now."

He rose with a grunt, and hoped that his knees would not give out on him now. He shuffled into another windowless room and walked towards the opposite end of a rosewood desk.

Knight-Commander Biedrin, a greying man in his fifties came forward to shake his hand. "Simon, it's good to see you. Allow me to introduce to you Knight Commander Gregoir, he is – "

"In charge of the Mage's Circle near Lake Calenhad," finished Simon. "Your reputation precedes you, Knight Commander. It is an honour."

Gregoir, a bearded Templar with a set of deep, perceptive eyes, wiped his brow in mock-relief. "Then you've heard only good things. For a moment there, I was afraid you'd bring up the fireworks incident."

Simon looked from Biedrin to Gregoir in puzzlement.

"It's no matter," laughed Biedrin dismissively. "Please, sit down." He gestured towards a rich velvet armchair. Once he had sat down, the two Templars followed suit. "I take it you're here to inquire after your niece's progress?"

"Yes. I cannot express my gratitude for taking her in under such unusual circumstances. To offer to train her and yet not swear her into your Order. It speaks of patience and does great credit to the Templars."

Biedrin smiled graciously. "And she, in turn, does credit to the Order." His smile vanished. "I have to...well, let me come right to the heart of the matter. I take it that the rest of Thedas has – by now – heard of the death of King Cailan at the hands of the Grey Wardens?"

Simon Trevelyan closed his eyes in pained recollection. "The news reached Ostwick no longer than a month ago. It is true, then? The Grey Wardens murdered the king?"

Biedrin looked to one side. "It...appears that way. Acting Regent Loghain Mac Tir has issued a bounty for any rogue Grey Wardens. They are to be apprehended, if possible, and brought to Denerim for trial."

Simon narrowed his eyes. "You called him _Regent_ , not _King_ ," he remarked.

"Very perceptive. Let it not go further than this room that there remain certain individuals who think that there is more to the tale than Loghain would have us believe." Beidrin sighed in exasperation. "But, even if it was, this brewing civil war does nothing to address the oncoming storm of the Blight."

"Then the rumours of Darkspawn and a Blight are...true?" questioned a bewildered Simon. "A missive was sent to our monarchy claiming that the Blight was a falsehood spread by Orlesian Grey Wardens to usurp control of Ferelden."

"It is no lie." spoke Gregoir. "Loghain's forces, in addition to our own, will be stretched to a breaking point. We cannot quell both a civil war and a Blight at the same time."

Biedrin leaned forward, clasped his hands in front of him on his desk, and looked at Simon Trevelyan pleadingly. "We need every man at our disposal. Citizen or not, if Ferelden falls to the Blight, mark my words that it will spread to all corners of Thedas." He dramatically pointed at his desk, not taking his eyes off Simon. "It needs to be stopped here and now. We Fereldens don't look to others to fight our battles for us, and if this was just a civil war we were contending with, we would not ask Orlesians, Free Marchers, Antivans or anyone to shed their blood for us."

"The Darkspawn threaten everyone," added Gregoir.

The gears chugged furiously in Simon Trevelyan's mind. "So...you want me to allow you induct my niece into your Order...?"

Biedrin nodded. "We would normally never ask this of an outsider. But the girl is clearly skilled, quite possibly more than half of our boys here. I do not know where she acquired such talents, but if you Free Marchers are as fearsome as she is, you are a force to be reckoned with."

Simon Trevelyan swallowed. "I was supposed to take the girl to the Chantry in Val Royeaux with me tomorrow. She is to assist me in transcribing some scrolls there..."

"Bann Trevelyan, we _implore_ you. We need everyone we can get. Your niece is not an exception. This very minute, several young men are being conscripted to the Order all over Ferelden. We have never had to exercise such laws until very recently. Tomorrow, Knight Commander Gregoir will head to other smaller towns to do the same. We could never forcefully conscript a foreigner, which is why we humbly plead for your permission."

"She is only sixteen...and her mother..." began Simon.

"Her mother left the decision in her daughter's hands, did she not?" reminded Beidrin.

"I...yes, she did."

"Will you not speak with the girl?" urged Gregoir.

At that very moment, Simon Trevelyan felt ambushed. Who were these Fereldens to demand that he provide them with soldiers to fight their wars for them? Alright, so they had only asked for his niece. But she was precious to his family. And, yes, the confirmation of a Blight was bleak news. But it had arisen on Ferelden soil. It was their problem to deal with.

"I will talk with her." relented Simon, as he exhaled heavily.

* * *

Evangeline was by the stables. In the bright moonlight he could see that she was perched atop a rather high fence, hair blowing behind her, and hooted as her Mabari ran in wild circles around the field.

"Do those laps, Bunty!" she shouted and clapped as she cheered him on. "Let it all out! Who's a fearsome warrior? You are!"

"Evangeline Trevelyan!" exclaimed Simon. "Get off that fence at once – you'll break your pretty little neck!"

"Uncle!" she yelled in delight. She jumped down, landing on all fours and rushed to embrace him. "Any news from home? How're mother, Annette and Claudia? Has Elena set a date for the wedding? Did you bring Bunty's toys as I'd asked?"

"I have no time for canine frivolities, child," scowled Simon. But he was pleased to see her. Her hair was much longer now; it had come down to her shoulders. "Everyone sends their love and regards."

"They don't let him out as much as they should," commented Evangeline as she gazed out at Bunty. His circular gallops had morphed into frenzied frolicking in completely random directions. "Some days he can't take it and howls to be let out. He's the smartest thing in this entire place. You can't cage an intelligent mind like that and expect it to remain calm. It'd drive anyone batty."

"I came to...well...ask you how you like it here."

"It's not too bad. I don't hate it as much I make it sound in my letters. Although there are hardly any women – save for the servants – here. I'm not quite used to that yet. But all the initiates are pretty decent."

"Have you made any friends?"

"I'm not...very sociable. But I do have one. His name is Adric." Her face lit up at the mention of his name. "He fancies other boys! Though no one else really knows. Fraternization is forbidden. You know how it is. But we sometimes sit and look at boys together. He's immensely clever, and between the two of us, we've managed to liven up ye ol' mausoleum a little bit. Why just yesterday, we cut up some cheese and put it in Knight Commander Biedrin's soap dish. I don't think he even noticed. He reeks of gouda. It would have been a _gouda_ thing if he'd checked first, don't you think?" She playfully punched the side of her uncle's arm and doubled over in laughter at her own bad joke.

Simon stared at her, rather aghast. "'Pon my word! Being a Templar is a serious business!" And then, on giving the girl another look, he noticed how lively her eyes had become. She seemed so animated, almost bordering the realm of hyperactivity. "Have they forced you to take Lyrium?" he asked with sudden concern.

"Of course not. Don't be silly. Though I am the only 'recruit' who remains uncommitted."

Simon cleared his throat. "Well, see now, that's why I'm here. I've been asked to speak with you."

"Oh?"

"With Ferelden's monarchy in tatters and the Darkspawn threat – "

" – don't tell the others back home. You know how Elena and Mother will worry."

Her uncle nodded impatiently. "With this imminent Darkspawn threat, it appears as if –"

"And you might want to keep it from Aunt Lucille as well. You _know_ how she likes to gossip."

"Will you let me finish!" exclaimed Simon. "This is hard enough as it is!"

She nodded and gave him her gravest expression. But her eyes were clearly laughing.

Simon ignored her and continued. "There is the possibility that this is an actual Blight. Biedrin and Gregoir have asked me to ask you...if you would consider pledging yourself to the Templar Order. Now I know that your mother and I have agreed that this...situation is purely a trial and that you can remain as non-committal as you wanted as long as you gave it your best effort. And to a large degree, this is still the case. But the Templars are lacking in manpower and resources and you have been asked to sacrifice more."

Her eyes lost all trace of merriment. "And if I don't?"

"We have permission to leave. But that would mean that your time here is at an end."

"All in or out, huh?" she remarked to herself.

Her mind wandered towards thoughts of Asogen. She was selfish, often frivolous, whereas he never displaced his responsibilities onto another's shoulders. Being honourable did not feel as glorious as she'd imagined. If she refused the request, she would be back home within a week. With Mother, Annette, Claudia and her Elena. Her heart grew warm at the prospect of returning. If she left it wasn't as if the Templars would be one man short. They never quite _had_ her to begin with.

What was the harm in turning them down?

"Give me an hour," she said finally. "They'll have their answer then."

* * *

It was telling Stroud about it that was the hard part. For some absurd reason, he was under the impression that she would soon abandon the Templars and they would go cavorting across Thedas. When she had confessed to him that she would be joining them on a permanent basis, he flew into a small fit of rage that she found did not become him. He teetered from pleading with her to change her mind to flinging books across the room when she refused. He never threw anything in her direction, although she secretly wished he would so that it would provide her with a reason to literally knock some sense into him.

The Templar Order would never let them be together, he argued. She told him that relationships weren't forbidden as long as one's loyalty to the Order wasn't compromised. She understood how much he loved her and she him. But he persisted as tempers of both parties rose. What if it came down to saving his life and that of a fellow Templar? Who would she choose? And what about Lyrium addiction? That's how they kept their own leashed and bound to the Order. She would choose _them_ over him every single time, he was certain of it.

She stormed out of his shack, furious that he wouldn't allow her to resolve the matter. She hated leaving it like this and hated him even more for allowing her to. She felt that she deserved that much.

But the world never gave anyone quite what they deserved and this aspect of it was a universal given. In that sense, at least, it was fair.

* * *

**1 Year Later**

The white pawn, its bulbous head adorned with a crudely drawn face of a deranged clown, was moved two spaces forward.

The golden rook, its face _and_ body tarted up to resemble an Antivan whore complete with near-to-bursting cleavage and fishnet stockings, was raised off the board momentarily and deliberately made to knock over the clown-pawn.

"Now that's just daft." came a male voice, as he gestured towards his fallen pawn. "You've left yourself wide open. My knight takes your king. Checkmate. Didn't you learn anything after _months_ of playing with me?" The young man, his chiseled face the picture of feigned shock, gaped at his opponent.

"Well. You win again." said an exasperated Evangeline.

"That comes as no surprise. You're thinking about your Alec again. I can tell. Every time this happens, you run into this like a bull with an arrow up its arse."

"Shut up, Adric."

"You know I'm right." He sighed. And then, in a mundane monotone, "What happened this time..."

"Nothing."

"You were at each other's throats, weren't you." He shook his head. "I keep telling you. You two are too much alike. And as much as I adore you, heart of my heart, you two have an unhealthy excess of the same qualities. You'll kill each other before the end."

"No we won't." She nodded towards the board. "Let's go again. I want the chance to win my dignity back."

Adric narrowed his grey eyes. "You didn't take your Lyrium today either, did you?" He tutted at her in mild disapproval as he arranged the pieces on the board. "Sooner or later, you know someone's going to find out."

Evangeline looked at him sharply.

Adric held up his hands in a placating expression. "Your secret – should it remain that way – will go with me to my grave. But Biedrin's not a complete imbecile. He'll find out one way or another."

"Then I'll deal with it when it happens," she said with considerable annoyance.

"You're going to lose this game faster than the last one." he noted. "So just to be a good sport and all that, I'll let you have an extra move. On the house."

"You can take your charity," she said as she brought her knight-turned-lizard forward and slapped it down with an impudent thwack, "and shove it up your perfectly-sculpted arse."

"You noticed," said Adric, giving her his most saccharine smile.

Her face broke into a chuckle. "You daft idiot." she said fondly.

A cacophony suddenly erupted in the dining room next door. The two friends looked up with interest.

A red-headed lad, one year their junior, stuck his freckled face through the arched doorway and beckoned to them. "Biedrin just got a missive from Knight Commander Gregoir," he began, his face rather grave. "Says he wants us to assemble in the hall."

"What? Now?" exclaimed Adric. "We're half an hour away from prayers and lights-out!"

"Yeah. I know. Must be serious."

* * *

As soon as the scraping and scuffling of chairs against stone, the coughs and concerned murmurings had subsided, the only sound that permeated the thick silence was the crackling and occasional roar of the fire that burned in the hearth. Gregoir stepped forward and put a fist to his mouth; clearing his throat before addressing his colleagues and students.

"I don't quite know how to ease you into this...development, so I'll come straight out and say it. There has been an uprising at the Mage's Circle. It is not Darkspawn as we had initially feared. However, in a way, it could have been potentially worse."

A young voice interrupted his speech. " _Could have_?" repeated the boy. "As in...it's over now?"

Biedrin nodded. "Yes. The situation is under control. Thank the Maker. But the Circle has been left severely short-staffed and – "

At this a hum of murmurs arose among the small crowd which Biedrin had to quell by raising his voice.

"The Circle is short-staffed. And it is as it sounds. Knight Commander Gregoir is safe and alive. But he had lost many of his Templars to this predicament. And he has requested that – "

"Can't you just tell us what's happened?" came another voice from the throng.

"I...do not wish to induce panic."

"You'll cause more panic by not saying anything," said Adric. He quickly looked down, unwilling to be identified.

"You have a point," conceded Biedrin. "Uldred has allowed himself to become possessed. As did some of the mages who followed him. Blood magic, as you might have already guessed, was involved. For several days, demons have run amuck within the Tower. The Right of Annulment was almost exercised. Thankfully, Gregoir did not have to use it. Uldred – or at least the demon within him – has been dealt with. The Circle is free of all corruption but there still remains the matter of recovery. The Knight Commander has lost too many men. What men he has left are in no suitable condition to carry out their Templar duties. He has informed me that a few blood mages remain who have escaped. He has their phylacteries in his possession but his men are by no means fit to pursue them."

"Is Grand Enchanter Irving alive?" questioned a voice.

"Yes he is."

"Why have you called us here?"

"I need volunteers. He needs at least ten of you to travel to Lake Calenhad and restore order. It will not be an easy task. There are mages who were not party to this uprising who need to be handled with care. As do the remaining Templars."

Evangeline looked at Adric. "Well?" she mouthed silently.

Adric gave her an extremely charming half-smile. He leaned into her ear and whispered, "I'm game if you are."

The pair were the first of many to step forward.


	8. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because I'm paranoid, I'm gonna have to ante up the rating to M. Nothing terribly smutty in here, but I suppose it's best to play it safe.

**Reunion**

**Redcliffe**

She pulled away from him, breathless and hungry. One hand circled her waist while the other ran up her neck and into her hair. Stroud pushed her up against the wall and she bumped into a side table, nearly knocking the oil lamp over.

"I like it when we fight and make up," he murmured.

"I'd prefer it if we didn't have to fight at all," she replied.

He kissed her harder the second time; her sense of touch heightened in response.

The damnable Templars had permitted their junior members only one leisurely day a week to spend as they chose; so long as such activities did not violate or contradict Templar rules and teachings. All the other remaining days were spent honing their skills, learning and upholding tenets of the Order. Stroud had argued that they were robbing her of him, and he couldn't deny that it left him feeling cheated and slightly bitter. There were times when he had wondered if he'd made the right decision in coming here. All this deception and sneaking about...he hated the fact that they couldn't even be seen in public together.

But then...there were moments like this where all the anger, the frustrations, dissipated.

He took off her jacket, and removed his own shirt in between kisses and slipped his hand underneath her white linen shirt.

"Wait..." she whispered.

"I've been waiting over a year."

It was true. Stroud had stood by patiently for them to consummate their relationship, but she had always maintained a feeling of trepidation. Perhaps, she decided, she was waiting for the perfect time and place. But what if it never came? What if her new life and duties thereof took her from him?

Adric was right – to an extent. Evangeline and Stroud bickered constantly – both had tendencies to succumb to emotional extremes. But at the end of it, they found one another again, sheepish in their guilt, and made up with as much passion as they had during their arguments. There were times where she found it quite exhausting. She thought she loved him; more than a year into it, they were still clearly infatuated with each other.

_Then why wait_ , she asked herself? It's not as if they were getting married and having children. Which was an entirely novel fear altogether. _Yeah, why not?_

"Okay. Alright." she relented, much for her own benefit as for his. Her hands went cold and her stomach churned. "Give me a glass of your strongest wine. Ale. _Booze_."

Stroud turned his attention to a small cabinet at the end of the room and back to her again. "You want to be _drunk_ while we have sex?" he asked incredulously.

"No. _No_. Just a little to take the edge off. I'm as nervous as hell – here, feel this." Evangeline placed her hand in his. It was like ice.

Stroud nodded and fetched her a cup.

* * *

She guzzled the alcohol quickly, and on an empty stomach its effects took hold of her faster. It had certainly become easier. Her inhibitions were lowered and her mind grew foggy. It was as if she traded rationale for a different perception entirely. One that made her skin come alive with an intense yearning. She regarded Stroud with a foreign hunger. True, there were smatterings of love thereabouts, but this was assuredly lust. He stood a few feet away and was shirtless. He truly was...quite the specimen. Lean and not bulky. Hard but not cold. And he was all hers. She took her time examining his chest and couldn't help but reach out with her right hand to touch it. As she ran her fingers down slowly to his abdomen, she locked her gaze in his. He looked back at the violet eyes that lay behind her thick, dark brows and forgot to breathe.

Evangeline could not handle the gap anymore, and with one swift stride, she covered the distance between them. She kissed Stroud with renewed intensity and the two were quick in helping one another break free of their trousers.

"The bed?" he asked as he removed her shirt.

"No. Here. Standing up. Against the wall."

"Yes, ma'am." he said with a broad smile.

* * *

Evangeline had no clue how long the entire event had lasted. It could have been five minutes, or it could have been an hour. In the haze of this alcoholic buzz, the only thing she was certain of was the warmth of satisfaction spreading over her being. Admittedly, she wasn't certain if this was how she imagined her first time would be, but - she had to confess - it wasn't bad. Not bad at all.

"Maker," panted Stroud, breathless as he stepped back from her. "If I had known..."

She looked at him, one corner of her mouth turned upwards. "We should do this more often."

"All day long if I can manage it," quipped Stroud.

"My superiors might have something to say about that," she said as she dressed herself.

"Fuck the Templars." And then, half-jokingly, "Come on, Evie, let's run away – you and me. Let's leave all this behind us."

The effects of the alcohol were starting to wear off. "So...you propose what, exactly? We find ourselves another home?"

He nodded.

"And when you get tired of that place – then what?"

"We go somewhere else."

She regarded him with a modicum of sadness in her eyes. "Of course."

Stroud failed to notice anything. "Just...well, think about it, is all."

She buttoned her shirt and put on her jacket. "Promise you'll take good care of Bunty? He needs to get out and run around at least thrice a day. And it helps if you applaud him while he does his laps. He _does_ like an audience. I should be back in a few weeks."

Stroud placed a solemn hand on his breast. "I swear it."

And just as she stepped out of the threshold and into the night air, he called after her. "Evie...I...thank you. For tonight."

She smiled and walked out.

* * *

**Lake Calenhad**

**The Circle Tower**

_She floated towards him. Her slender fingers tapered into long and sharp nails. Or were those claws...? He couldn't quite discern the details. At any rate, it didn't matter. She...it...had probed the recesses of his mind. It had broken barriers and combed his memories for vulnerabilities._

_**Do you** _ _, it had asked coyly,_ _**want me to be her?** _

_And the image shifted to that of the innocent girl. She was wearing the same maroon dress he'd first seen her in. She looked around her nervously – just as she'd done that night. But no. It wasn't her. Not truly._

_With tremendous effort he managed to disrupt it. But then, from the corners of this murky nightmare, stepped forward a beaten and bloody form of one his colleagues, his friend. It regarded Cullen dully; and then shuffled towards him._

"Why did it spare you?" _the apparition asked_.

_**I don't know.** _

"Why keep you contained and kill the rest of us?"

_**Please...I don't know.** _

"Were you colluding with it?"

_**No. I promise. I swear to you. I wasn't**_.

_The broken figure swung a fractured arm in his direction and bellowed_. "Then why do I remain dead while you still breathe!"

" _I don't know!_ " yelled the Templar as his eyes shot open. Head still firmly on the pillow, and his body rolled into a fetal position in the cot, he couldn't help but attract the attention of the Chantry Sister in the corner of the room. And the room was familiar. He lay in the infirmary within the Circle Tower.

"Still here," he murmured, oblivious to the fact that he was talking out loud. "Why am I still here? Somebody please tell me why!"

The Sister rushed to his side to comfort him. "It's alright, child. It's over now. The Maker has heard your cries and has come to your aid."

Cullen scowled and pushed her arm aside as he sat up on the rickety cot. He grabbed his head in his hands. "She was right. There is no Maker. No deity could stand by and let all this happen."

The Sister looked at him, troubled. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder as she knelt by his side. He did not brush it away. "We are servants of the Maker. Here to do His will. My presence here is evidence enough of His compassion. Will you not let me help you?"

"You can't." he muttered, his voice breaking. "Nothing can fix this."

"Perhaps you should talk about what you saw. Or lie back down," insisted the Sister.

"No. I've slept long enough." The cot creaked as he got up and staggered out of the room.

* * *

" _Now!_ You're asking me this now?" exclaimed Evangeline as they sat in the large kitchen. The fire from the hearth was the only source of flickering light. It danced against the wide tables and benches in the empty - save for its two occupants - room.

Most of the Circle Tower's inhabitants had turned in for the night. Occasionally, a servant would wander in to finish a forgotten, half-complete task. But for the most part, they were alone. And due to the pair's insomniac tendencies, they had decided to come here. To seek solace in each other's company. Well, that was the intention, anyway.

"Well, you're hair was significantly disheveled. Trust me, I can tell. And you had this... _glow_ about you."

She leaned forward and whispered harshly at him. She pointed to one side with vigour. "There are _corpses_ being burned outside. They can't even afford to provide them with a dignified burial because of the condition of the bodies. How can you take... _pieces_ back to their families? Every sodding Templar here is traumatized by what happened. And you... _you're asking me about my sex life?_ "

Adric took a sip of his tea; unperturbed. "Evangeline dear, don't be so thick."

She flung her hands up in futility.

Adric fiddled with removing something out of the corner of his eye. "You – along with the rest of our esteemed Order – just spent several minutes regurgitating your last meals onto the courtyard of this establishment. Billy and some of the others have come down with an uncontrollable fit of the shakes. No one – not a _single person_ – could walk through these hallways, stumble upon the aftermath of this... _slaughter_ and walk away unscathed. So, yes. _Do_ reprimand me with your superior sense of morality. Chastise me as I attempt distract you from all this death and destruction."

Evangeline leaned back and mouthed a silent _oh_.

Adric rolled his eyes heavenwards. "You really do try my patience, you know."

"Sorry..." she said sheepishly. "You're alright," she smiled as she leaned over and slugged Adric on the arm.

"I'm more than alright," remarked Adric. He rubbed his eyes sleepily. "Well. As enthralling as this short conversation has been, I'm afraid that I'm going to have to call it a night. I suggest that you do the same."

Evangeline rose up to warm herself by the fire. "You go ahead. I just have to...think for a while."

* * *

She removed her shoes and flexed her weary feet. The heat from the blaze was welcome and she was grateful that no one had decided to put it out.

What had happened here seemed to have leapt off the pages of a historical tome. They had all heard of abominations, but they were still of junior rank and only a few had witnessed a Harrowing. According to Knight Commander Gregoir, Uldred had courted blood magic in order to win mages their freedom. But as such flirtations with dark powers typically go, things spiraled quickly out of control. A demon possessed Uldred and his cohorts and the chaos that ensued would have laid waste to everyone trapped inside. So grim was the situation that the Knight Commander was prepared to enact the Right of Annulment.

If it hadn't been for the aid of two Grey Wardens, a senior Enchanter and dwarf, Irving would be dead and the mages lost.

Had she stepped into some morbid tale of misadventure?

"I – I'm sorry," came a male voice from one end of the room, startling her. "I didn't know anyone else was in here."

"It's okay," she said without turning around.

"Are you...with the Chantry?" he asked.

Evangeline snorted. "Not quite. We came at Gregoir's behest to help out."

"Ah. I'll not trouble you then. Just came to get something to drink."

As he clattered about, Evangeline – too lazy to put her shoes back on – sat up and stretched. Maybe it _was_ time to sleep. She'd have to wake up in five hours anyway. She walked past the man, slightly bleary-eyed. He filled a kettle and began to boil some water. As she neared the doorway, Evangeline paused. Given the lateness of the hour, her mind was sluggish and seemed to struggle to shine a light on something she had missed. But it eluded her, and with a shrug she continued on her way.

"Evangeline?" called the voice.

She froze out in the hallway. The man hurried towards her.

"Evangeline?" he repeated, this time to her face.

Her eyes widened, as if she'd seen a ghost. A stubbled, red-eyed, gaunt face looked back at her in equal surprise.

"Cullen," she almost whispered. "Here?"

His eyes ran over her face. She was a little different, her hair was longer, she had a slight scar above her left brow but those same eyes he saw in dreams and now, nightmares, looked back at him. "Are you real?" he said quietly.

" _What?_ Of course I am! Why wouldn't I be?" she exclaimed, rather harshly. And then a flood of realization came over her. _Stupid, stupid, Evie_. He was in shock. "You were here, weren't you?" she asked, softening her tone. "You were here when it happened."

He stared back at her, at a loss for words. He quickly looked away. He was remembering, trying to formulate something coherent. But it clearly hurt because he winced as he did so. Whether this was physical, emotional or both – she did not know.

_What the hell would Elena do in a situation like this?_

She cocked her head slightly to one side, trying to get his attention. She put a reassuring arm on his shoulder. He flinched and pulled back.

"I – I'm sorry," he muttered.

_Okay_. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"I know."

"I would never hurt you."

"I know.

"Would you like to play some chess with me?"

* * *

He took her to the cellar. No one died in here, he said. They cleared several moth-eaten scrolls and parchments in a fairly well-lit corner, sat down on the floor opposite each other and set up the game.

The distraction seemed to clear his head somewhat. He picked up one piece after another and looked at them quizzically.

"Evie, why do these pieces have faces on them?" he asked. He studied a rook and thrust it out in her direction. "This one looks like a whore!"

She coloured slightly. "I...ah. We – that is, Adric and I myself..." she gave up all efforts at finding an explanation so assigned blame instead. "Oh I don't know. He's Ser Adric, Lord of Whimsy. Who _knows_ why he does what he does."

"I'm sure you had a hand in it. You used to be quite whimsical, too, if I remember correctly," said Cullen, eying her. "It wouldn't surprise me at all if you still were."

Evangeline gave him a wan smile. For whatever reason, being down here with him alone felt...strange. A _nice_ kind of strange.

"Who's Adric?" he questioned.

"My fellow Templar and friend."

"So you're a Templar now, huh?" he asked. "Whatever happened to _: I'd rather recite dirty limericks while juggling nugs at the Wintersend Ball than join the Templars?_ " He moved his pawn forward.

"Not quite a Templar yet," she corrected, "and I never said anything of the sort." She moved her castle three spaces to the left.

"Oh, I promise you that you did."

"When?"

"Don't you remember? The night Bunty crashed your mother's salon. You had a little too much to drink afterwards."

_The night you held me as I passed out from my drunken stupor? And in that stupor, I told you about Ser Rutherford and the goat. And you went to all the trouble of making a replacement_. The memories flooded in against her wishes. She shuddered in an effort to expel them.

"Are you cold?" he asked. "I could go get you a blanket."

"No. I'm...uh...fine. It's your move."

"This is a refreshing change, you know," he commented. "For the last few weeks, everyone's been insisting that I rest. Lie down. No one – until now – has had the sense to bring back some degree of normalcy. Sometimes a smattering of everyday tedium is the best medicine."

She looked up at him playfully. "Are you calling this game tedious, Cullen?"

He chuckled. "Not at all. It's just nice – is all. Playing it. With you." He swallowed.

"Well, you're going to like it even more soon enough. I'm really quite terrible at it. I haven't won a game for several months."

"I used to play with my sister a lot. She was undeniably the better player."

She'd wanted to ask him if he'd informed his family about recent events, but looking at him now – his face seemed a shade brighter, quite possibly due to recent distractions. No need to remind him of what he had just endured. "You're still one up on me. Adric only taught me about a year ago."

He shifted his position into a more comfortable cross-legged one. "I have to confess, as much as I've been thinking about you, you're the last person I expected to see here."

And as soon as he had said it, he froze. He shut his eyes tight, and didn't dare peek. A red hue flushed his cheeks and he stammered, trying valiantly to recover some shred of dignity. "I...that is to say...thinking about you right after I saw you. In the kitchens. Because that was when I saw you. Tonight. Earlier."

Evangeline remained silent. Uncertain of what she should say. _Well, think of something, anything!_ "Ser Rutherford!" she exclaimed suddenly. It was her turn to swallow nervously. "The bear, I mean. Elena told me that you gave him his hat and his cape. It was really very sweet, Cullen. Thank you."

"Did you like him? Was he...uh...anything like his predecessor?" he asked, still unable to look her in the eye.

She smiled. "Oh, yes. Tremendously. I can honestly say it has been an absolute joy to sleep with Ser Rutherford beside me every night. He is _such_ a sweetheart." _Maferath's balls. She had walked right into that one_. "The bear, I mean. Not you. Not that you're not a sweetheart...I...ugh!"

Cullen hung his head and chuckled. "Thank you for this."

"For what? My social ineptitude?" she asked; cheeks still very red.

"I didn't think I'd be able to laugh again. At least not this soon." He reached out for her hand in gratitude. But he held on to it a little longer than necessary, and his thumb stroked her skin, sending something electric down her spine. And then his hand was by his side again and the moment was over.

* * *

He deliberately exposed his queen and sacrificed his knight in order to clear a path for her rook. As Evangeline felled his king, she stared at the board in slight disbelief.

"I...won?" she said.

"It would appear so."

"I'll be damned. I wish Adric was here to see it." She narrowed her eyes at him. _He hadn't... let her win, had he? No, of course he didn't_.

She got up and stretched. "I...should probably get to bed. You ought to as well."

He helped her put away the pieces and fold up the board. "I'm going to stay down here for a few minutes longer. You go ahead."

Evangeline stared at him in concern. "You're going to sleep down here tonight, aren't you?" He gazed back at her, wordlessly. She went on. "It's like you said earlier. Nothing happened down here and you can't feel that fear. So, _here_ is safe."

He gave her a barely perceptible nod.

Her eyes lit up. "Wait right here, don't go anywhere!"

In a few minutes, he could hear her patter down the steps. She carried a roll of sheets and two pillows before her. She plonked it down in front of him. "Ser Rutherford of Honnleath, who thankfully wasn't devoured by gluttonous goat, it would be my absolute pleasure to return the favour you so humbly bestowed upon me in Ostwick." She rolled out the sheets and fluffed up the pillows.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Keeping you company."

"I thought you didn't remember that night..."

"I don't. Elena told me. Besides, you're my friend and this is what friends do for each other. Now scooch over."

Cullen sat propped up against her shoulder. "I don't want to lie down." he said, his voice barely audible.

"Why not?"

"Dreams. Bad ones. Sometimes I think lying down makes it worse."

"Okay." She slipped an arm around him and rested her cheek against his hair. "What makes it better?"

He paused. "Limericks. Tell me some of the most absurd limericks you've ever heard of."

Evangeline laughed. Imagination rampant, she thought up a number of utterly ridiculous limericks to help put his mind at ease.

He fell asleep to the sound of her voice and the thought of a Chantry priest performing somersaults into churned butter.


	9. Consequences

_Blessed are they who stand before_

_The Corrupt and the Wicked and do not falter_

_Blessed are the peacekeepers, the Champions of the just..._

He awoke to the muffled sound of several voices above him. It was difficult to discern the words, but having recited it every morning since the age of twelve, the verse had become innate. It was from the _Canticle of Benedictions_ , and was frequently used by Chanters to praise those who had aided others in the name of the Maker.

The events of the previous night trickled in, and he found himself reaching out for her groggily. Instead of her person, however, his hand grasped something small and distinctly furry with some form of cloth attached to it. He pulled the object towards him for closer examination.

A corner of Cullen's lips turned upwards. _Of course_. Of course she would leave the bear with him. His eyes also caught sight of a torn scrap of vellum upon which lay some words.

_Hope you slept soundly with no bad dreams. Sorry I had to leave – duty calls. You know how it is. I didn't completely neglect you though. Left Ser Rutherford by your side to keep you company. He isn't much of a talker but he possesses a silent strength. Hope to see you sometime this evening._

E.

He fingered the paper gently. He'd slept better than he had in weeks.

* * *

Cullen walked into the Templar dormitory, found himself a private corner, and started to dress himself. He wasn't quite prepared to be decked in full Templar regalia, but a casual step towards normalcy was a start. He buttoned the long-sleeved white shirt and adjusted the collar. He slowly put each leg into his tan trousers and then sat down on a stool to lace up his boots. He wasn't sure how presentable he was but he was far too reluctant to look in a mirror to find out. The last time he'd gazed at his own image, the bloodshot eyes that reflected back seemed to belong to another person entirely.

Somewhat satisfied sans mirror, he walked out of the Templar quarters and went to search for Knight Commander Gregoir.

* * *

Under normal circumstances, had Cullen waltzed into the Knight Commander's office this late in the day, he would have elicited a sharp reprimand. But these weren't mundane occurrences. Cullen knew he wasn't quite up to waltzing in anywhere. And Gregoir was keenly aware of it as well. The young man had been shut up within an impenetrable field of magic for a little over two days. Uldred's demons had sifted through Cullen's mind and had used his own memories against him until he could no longer distinguish nightmare from reality. To have come out of it with at least part of his persona intact, it showed remarkable strength of will.

He still had a long way to go, in terms of recovery, but these things took time and Gregoir was willing to be as accommodating as possible.

A knock sounded on the door to his study.

"Come in," the Knight Commander said.

Cullen stepped in. "I hope this is not a bad time. I came to apologize for my tardiness."

Gregoir's eyes widened for the briefest of moments. The difference between the boy he'd seen during these past trying weeks and the one who stared back at him now was night and day. Gregoir had ordered the Chantry healer to increase his dosage of Lyrium in order to ease Cullen's transition towards recovery, but the Lyrium didn't seem to elicit much of an improvement. Something else had, however. That much was clear.

"You have nothing to apologize for," said Gregoir. He loosely gestured in Cullen's direction. "You look...well. I trust you're feeling better?"

"I think so. Quite possibly – yes."

Gregoir smiled. "I am relieved to hear it."

Cullen fidgeted with his fingers. "I know that you've been concerned about me lately, and I just thought of something that might help me move forward."

The older man nodded for him to continue.

"I ran across Quentin earlier. He told me that some phylacteries arrived just this morning. From the White Spire."

"Correct. After three of the mages escaped, I sent for their phylacteries to be delivered. The sooner we track them down, the better. We can't have what happened here spread to the nearest villages. Or, Maker forbid, beyond it. This kind of...insurrection is potentially contagious. If the escaped mages – well, I suppose they're apostates now...If the escaped apostates managed to reach other mages sympathetic to their cause, and if they still retain knowledge that Uldred has imparted to them, this could get bad very quickly."

_As if wasn't bad enough already_ , thought Cullen. "I would like to help you trace them."

"You want to hunt them down?" asked Gregoir with raised eyebrows.

"Yes."

"No. Absolutely not. Not yet, at least."

Cullen was taken aback by how quickly his Knight Commander had come to this decision. "Might I inquire why?"

"Don't ask questions to which you would not like the answers," cautioned Gregoir.

"I suppose it is not my decision to make, but I do have a right to know why I was denied," frowned Cullen.

Gregoir exhaled deeply. "You wanted the Grey Wardens to kill all the surviving mages. Mages who were not party to Uldred's schemes. You asked for the Right of Annulment to be enforced after the situation was brought under control."

"I know I might have been emotionally – "

Gregoir held up an interrupting hand. "You were significantly traumatized. Of course you were emotionally compromised. Quite frankly, I am amazed at your rapid recovery. Torture of this sort would have broken a lesser man. So yes, _I get it_. But I have been Knight Commander long enough to distinguish vengeance from duty. Revenge has gotten many fine soldiers under my command killed. And I would rather risk damnation than repeat history today. So the answer to your question, Cullen, is an emphatic _no_."

"Who'll track them down then?"

"I sent out some of Biedrin's Templars an hour ago. They'll get the job done."

_Evangeline_. "You do know that some of those Templars have been in the Order for a very short time, don't you? They may not be able to contend with blood mages."

"Do you think me an idiot?" said Gregoir, a trifle annoyed. "They've been paired with more senior soldiers. There is a war coming and this will be a good opportunity to test their mettle. And besides, next to myself, Knight Commander Biedrin has trained some of the finest Templars I've ever seen."

* * *

"For heaven's sake – don't _drop_ the damn thing!" cried Adric, horrified, as he rushed towards Evangeline.

The hourglass-shaped phylactery she had been holding slipped clumsily from her grasp, but she had reached out just in time to prevent it from shattering into hundreds of irrecoverable pieces.

"Sorry, _sorry!_ " she wailed.

"Give me that." said Adric as he snatched the delicate vial from her hand. "Would you _try_ not to use all ten of your thumbs at once?"

It was best to let him have his way. For a little over an hour now, the phylactery – it's glow increasing in gradual degrees – had led them down the forest path. But as they wandered farther in, the phylactery grew cold and dark. Several minutes later, the trees were beginning to thin, and Adric swatted at loose, overhanging branches in frustration.

"This is a right royal mess," he groused as he began to admonish himself out loud. " _I'm_ the one who's two years your senior, _I'm_ the one with significantly more experience. So what do I do? I entrust the phylactery to _you_ , in the hope that you would pick up some kind of trace. But no. You were certain it was this way, you said. _He's in the forest – I'm sure of it_. And then what happens once we're neck deep in the woods? The vial stops glowing. What the hell were you looking at then? _It could have been the sunlight...reflecting off the glass_." Adric slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. "Imbecile!"

"Not one of your brightest moments. Nor mine for that matter." quipped Evie, who clamped her jaw shut after Adric shot her a withering look.

"If ever the Templar order requires a comedic routine, I'll be sure to volunteer our services." His shoulders slumped as he turned around slowly. "Well, there's nothing to be done standing here. Let's retrace our steps and start over."

* * *

Evangeline munched on some stale bread as she watched Adric pace forward. It was difficult navigating this hilly terrain but the pair had managed it, and now, the phylactery was glowing brighter than ever before. And sunlight had nothing to do with it.

Adric looked up from it and grinned. "It's warm too. And you know what _that_ means."

Evangeline tossed the rubbery bread aside and walked up to him. "He's used magic recently, hasn't he?"

Adric nodded and handed her the phylactery. She held it in one hand and used the other to block out external, interfering light, and peered at it. _Yup. Definitely glowing_. "Nice work, Adric." she said, giving the vial back to him.

"You know, some Templars are able to exert a degree of control over a mage just by using their phylactery. I'd be willing to bet that they could make the mage walk right out into the open."

"Can you?"

"I'm afraid not. Or at least, not yet."

He jogged forward and surveyed the valley below. A stream weaved its way before them, and as his eyes followed its path, they met a small, ramshackle old cabin.

Adric turned to Evangeline and beamed. He stuck his hand out towards her. "Ten to one that he's in there with his feet up, quite happy in the belief that he's eluded us. If I'm right, you're buying me a pint. Actually, even if I'm wrong, you're still buying me one. I'm owed a stiff drink after what you put me through."

Evangeline grinned and shook his hand before they carefully descended down the hill.

* * *

Cullen finally found her cot in a corner. It was one of the few that had not been neatly made. He approached it and picked up a book she had laid on the floor. He examined its title. _Chantry Priests II – The Reckoning_ , by Varric Tethras. The cover illustration depicted three, terribly grim Chantry brothers with swords in their hands. A fire...or an explosion, perhaps, lay behind them in the background.

"Oh, Evie." murmured Cullen with affection. He'd have to ask her about this later.

He had wanted to return the bear to his rightful place under her pillow when the idea came over him to make her bed up properly. He put Ser Rutherford's furry self aside and set about removing and replacing the blankets. As he lifted the thin mattress to tuck the sheets underneath, he heard a muffled clinking sound – as if something made of glass had slipped onto the floor. He knelt and bent down to peer under the cot.

There was a small pouch that had fallen. Curious, Cullen reached out and pulled the small sack towards him. He undid the loose tie that bound it shut and looked inside. Vials of Lyrium. There had to be at least seven here, all unused. But what was she doing with these? Had she been hoarding them? Every Templar developed an addiction to Lyrium, but there was a small number whose cravings could never be satiated. Not for very long anyway. However, it was rather easy for another Templar to sense large quantities of Lyrium within the more severe addicts. He had not sensed it in her at all. Which meant... _what_ , exactly?

She hadn't been taking it.

The implications hit him hard and his heart began to pound faster. Lyrium gave them the ability to withstand spells that could weaken or even kill an ordinary person. It was an internal shield, in a way. It also made them capable of dispelling certain forms of magic. Without it, and against blood mages...

Cullen stumbled to his feet and ran out of the room.

* * *

The man held his staff threateningly in front of him with one hand. The other shielded the woman behind him protectively.

"You take one more step, Templars, and I will turn you both to ashes. Think you can take me down before I set this place on fire? Try it. Just try it. _Give me a reason to burn you_." the Mage warned.

Adric, attempting to take control of the situation, lowered his longsword and brought down his shield. "We have no intentions of hurting her," he explained. "We just want to sit down and have a nice chat."

"The last time someone brought a weapon to the table in the name of _discourse_ , blood was spilled and lives were lost." he snarled. "I have no reason to believe the word of a _Templar_."

"Then let your friend go," Evangeline spoke up. "What has she got to do with any of this?"

The apostate's face twisted in hate. "So you can use her as a bargaining chip? You think I don't know how you work? The minute I let her go, you'll put a sword to her throat." The woman sobbed quietly behind him.

"I swear it, I will _not_ harm her." stated Adric.

"I won't be taken for a fool any longer. She stays with me."

"It appears that we are at an impasse then, no?" remarked Adric; trying to keep his voice even and somewhat friendly.

"A trade, then," suggested Evangeline suddenly.

Adric shot a glance in her direction. What was she doing? They were never to barter with apostates, let alone blood mages.

She tried to ignore him and continued. " _Look_. We're going to be standing here all evening at this rate. You don't trust us. So let us give you a reason to. I'm going to put aside my weapon now, and walk to that corner there. With my hands up."

"Why the _hell_ would you do that?" questioned the man warily.

"You let her go and I'll be your bargaining chip. And as a Templar, I'm far more valuable than a peasant girl. You _do_ realize that there are more Templars coming, right? They'll be here soon – I assure you," she lied. "And they won't be as merciful as we are. You think they'll hesitate to kill the pair of you just because she's an innocent bystander?" She gave a derisive snort. "They won't come here to bargain. They won't come here to negotiate. You apostates slaughtered their colleagues. Their _friends_. They're coming here for vengeance."

"And what makes you two so different?"

Adric swallowed. The mage was finally listening. He didn't know what hare-brained scheme Evangeline was concocting, but he decided to trust her and play along. "We only just arrived two days ago. From Redcliffe. We haven't lost anyone...yet."

Evangeline nodded in agreement, not taking her eyes off the man. "With me as your captive, a fellow Templar – that might make them considerably more amenable to reason. What do you say?"

In moments that seemed to endure for an eternity, the man turned his head slightly to address his companion. "Now when I say go, you run. You don't stop for anything, you hear me? _Just run_." And then, to Evangeline, "Put your sword and shield on the floor. Kick it away from your friend."

She did as she was told.

"Take off your armor."

She hesitated; she hadn't counted on him thinking that far ahead. But it was too late to change her mind. The armor fell to the floor with several clanks.

"Now move slowly to that corner with your hands where I can see them," he barked.

In nothing but a shirt and trousers, Evangeline followed his instructions and soon stood where he had commanded her.

After eying Evangeline cautiously for several more seconds; "Run, Ophelia. Just go! _Now!_ " He shoved the woman away from him as she stumbled, weeping, out into the night.

While the woman made a swift exit, Evangeline winked at Adric. She raised her right arm slightly higher and allowed for the cuff of her sleeve to slide down a fraction. Something glinted briefly in the lamplight, before she hastily covered it up. Adric gave her the slightest of smiles.

The mage turned and glowered at Adric, breathing heavily. He stepped sideways in Evangeline's direction and pointed his wooden staff at her neck. This close to the weapon, she noticed a blade attached to its tip. She would be burned _and_ gutted if they didn't resolve this soon. And here she thought being a Templar would be dull.

"You wanted to talk? So talk!" the man shouted to Adric.

"Yes. Alright. I...what exactly is it that you want?"

The mage let out a bitter laugh. "All the fighting, all the abuse and the death and you _still_ can't figure out what we want?" He paused to catch his breath. " _We want our fucking freedom!_ We want normal lives where we can love _who_ we want, _when_ we want! We want to be respected as human beings! We want – "

Evangeline lunged and thrust her dagger into the apostate's shoulder. In the scuffle, he stumbled forward and the staff's blade sliced the skin on her neck. Adric took advantage of the confusion and ran towards them to subdue the mage. But the man was ready for him. He shoved his staff in Adric's direction and sent the young Templar flailing backwards onto the cabin's wall. The wood immediately splintered - whimpering and groaning as it did so. Adric slid to the floor with his eyes shut.

Evangeline, clutching her throat with one hand, snarled as she closed in on her assailant – dagger at the ready.

Adric, still reeling from the blow, watched in morbid fascination as she circled the mage and attempted to cut off his retreat. The mage held one hand in the air and began an incantation. He was about to cast a spell.

Adric's knees weren't quite ready to stand, so he shouted in Evangeline's direction. " _Dispel it!_ "

She stretched her hand forward to do as she was told and then yanked it back as a slow, horrified realization hit her.

Adric finally understood what was going on. Without the Lyrium coursing through her veins, she was defenseless against any and all spells that he would surely cast. _You damnable idiot_ , thought Adric.

The mage, as injured and angry as he was, had caught on too. He summoned mana to form an invisible yet large fist that cut through the air and sent her sliding across the room. His anger unabated, he advanced towards her. She shuffled to get back up on her feet.

_No_ , thought Adric weakly, as he raised his hand and tried to cleanse the area of magic himself. It worked to a certain extent, as whatever spell the apostate had conjured only served to unbalance her for a moment.

Realizing this, the mage bellowed in rage and charged at her. He shoved the blade into her stomach. She let out an agonized yell and clutched at him as she fell backwards. But in mid-fall, Evangeline had managed to put one hand behind his neck. She pulled his face towards her and, with an immense effort, stabbed the mage right in the soft skin beneath his chin. She worked in the blade as far as she could manage. The weapon must have sliced open his carotid, as a spray of blood soon showered across her face.

They both slammed into the floor and lay still.

* * *

The dog, its brown snout close to the ground, yanked him to the right. It snuffled its way through forest detritus and led him over yet another hill.

As twilight descended, the hound's stalwart presence relieved him somewhat. He would catch hell from Gregoir once the Knight Commander discovered that Cullen had absconded with one of his precious dogs, but he had a feeling that stealing the dog would be the lesser issue here.

_Consequences_. Every damnable action had consequences. For Gregoir, for himself and now for Evangeline as well.

Anger bubbled within him. It seemed to displace apprehension and dread, because the thought of... _No_. When he found her he would yell at her like he'd never shouted at anyone in his life. Her inabilities due to lack of Lyrium crippled both her and Adric. How could she have been so naïve, so immature and thoughtless so as to jeopardize her companion's life?

_Or, more accurately, do you mean how could she not think of what this would do to you?_

But everything would be fine. Everything would be okay. He would just make her aware of her own stupidity and then...and then, he decided, he would tell her how he felt.

The dog let out a high-pitched bark.

Cullen saw the cabin below and ran towards it.

* * *

Cullen kicked open the door with his sword pointed ahead of him. He swept his eyes over the poorly lit interior until the landed on a slumped form against the wall.

_Adric_.

Cullen examined the young Templar and put two fingers on his neck. He was relieved to feel a pulse. The injured man had a nasty cut on his temple, but other than that he seemed to be alright. He slapped Adric lightly on the face. "Adric. Adric – wake up, can you hear me?"

The Templar's eyes fluttered open. He stared up at Cullen's visage and gave a weak smile. "Well, aren't _you_ a pretty one?"

Cullen ignored him. "Where's Evie?"

In an instant, the smile was gone and Adric's face grew pale. He staggered to his feet with Cullen's help and stumbled towards two prostrate bodies in a darkened corner. The mage was lying on top her with an arm awkwardly extended onto the floor.

_Maker_ , no, thought Cullen.

"Help me get him off her." said Adric.

With trembling hands, that he tried in vain to steady, the pair lifted the limp body aside. Evangeline lay there, terribly still. The blade from the mage's staff had snapped and half of its shard protruded from her abdomen.

_No, no, no. Not like this. Please, not like this_ , wailed Cullen inwardly.

There was blood on her face, in her hair, her neck... "I don't..." groaned Cullen as he teetered backwards.

Adric caught him. He looked at the distraught man. "It's not all her blood. Do you hear me, Templar? It's not all hers. She got him somehow and they fell together. Just stay here a minute."

Cullen watched in panicked silence as Adric bent over her limp form. A minute disguised as an hour followed.

"She's alive." he called out.

Cullen rushed forward as Adric continued. "I'm not sure how deep the blade went in, but the bleeding seems to have stopped. Here, give me a rag," Cullen fumbled about for a handkerchief and handed to him. "You're going to want to either wash or burn this afterwards," said Adric as he wiped most of the dried blood off her face. On closer examination, Adric noticed that there were no injuries to her face, save for a gash across her neck. But it wasn't too deep.

"Now," Adric went on, "find me some clean cloth and soak it in this." He handed Cullen a small poultice. "It's an antiseptic. You are going to have to pull that blade out of her. That could start the bleeding back up again, so I'm going to put pressure on the wound until it stops. Do you think you can manage that?"

Cullen nodded.

* * *

A solid, exhausting hour later, Adric stepped away from his patient and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. Cullen remained by Evangeline's side and looked up at his companion.

"Not a bad job for someone who's not a healer, eh? Now if only I could cure this throbbing headache." said Adric with a grim smile.

"Will she be alright?"

Adric regarded Cullen with some amusement. "I think she'll make it. Although once she's up and about, I intend to kill her myself. But for the moment, yes, she's quite safe."

"We should take her back," said Cullen.

Adric agreed and moved forward so as to pick up and carry her unconscious form.

Cullen held his hand out and motioned for him to stop. "I... _please_ , let me. I've got her."

In one movement he gingerly lifted her up, propped her head against his chest and followed Adric out into the night.


	10. Longer Than We Should Admit

**Longer Than We Should Admit**

A peal of thunder rolled across the night sky just as they approached the outskirts of the forest. The ground beneath them trembled, betraying the close proximity of the storm. Adric, holding the dog's leash in one hand, brought his other free hand to his temple, and massaged it gently. The pain flooded in waves.

He halted abruptly, causing Cullen – in possession of Evangeline's limp body – to almost collide into him.

Fat drops of rain – reasonably interspaced – splashed across their heads, faces and began to chill any exposed skin.

"Do you believe in the Maker, Cullen?" came Adric's voice in the darkness.

"I suppose... _yes_ ," said Cullen hesitantly.

"Well. It would appear that He is in cahoots with every element arrayed against us tonight." The gaps between falling drops of water decreased. _Significantly_. "We're not going to make it back to the Tower in this mess," explained Adric as his voice grew in crescendo parallel to the roar of rain.

Cullen bent his head down in an attempt to shelter Evangeline's bandaged form. It proved a fruitless endeavor.

"This way!" called out Adric. "I remember seeing an overhang on the way here."

* * *

The overhang Adric had noticed several hours earlier turned out to be a cave. After ensuring that the cavern didn't lead to a den of starving wolves or other voracious beasties, Cullen placed Evangeline down gently, and laid her sleeping head on his lap. Adric tied the dog up securely to sturdy roots that had permeated the cave's rocky interior and stepped out briefly to search for some dry kindling.

Ten minutes later, he stepped back in, soaking wet. He shook his arms repeatedly to rid himself of excess water. He knelt down and did his damnest to get a spark going with what parched forest detritus he could acquire. A fragment of luck was on his side; as the spark took, and – encouraged by Adric's puffs of air – flickered to life in precious heat and flame.

"Remind me to add this to the ever-growing list of I-owe-yous that our precious Evie will have to foot."

Cullen gazed at him with tired eyes and smiled despite himself.

"How are you holding up, my fellow Templar?" asked Adric.

"As fine as could be expected, I suppose."

Adric sat himself down with a sigh of relief. He jostled about momentarily – attempting to coax something out of his back pocket. The object finally in hand, he thrust it out in Cullen's direction. "A small flask of brandy. It's yours. None for me, thank you. One sip of that and this blasted migraine will have me on my knees."

Cullen accepted it warily. "I don't know if I should..."

"Oh, for pity's sake. You could do with a stiff drink. Especially after tonight."

His companion kept the flask by his side, reluctant to imbibe its contents.

" _So_. You keep that handy because...?" inquired Cullen. Templars were a disciplined lot. Especially during their nascent years of training. They couldn't do much without a superior's explicit consent. No fraternization, socialization, and _exclusively_ no consumption of alcohol while on duty. In the firelight, Cullen noticed the scowl that crept across Adric's face.

"I usually reserve liquor for moments such as these. However, you'll forgive me if I didn't anticipate being flung halfway across a room, have my head concussed by a psychotic apostate and watch my only and closest friend get impaled in the stomach." And then he glanced down sheepishly. "I apologize. That was...unworthy of me. I suppose, if I was to be perfectly candid with you, I have had worse moments."

Cullen raised his eyebrows.

"Shocking, isn't it?" chuckled Adric. "It's true though, and don't breathe a word of it to your paramour," he nodded at a sleeping Evangeline.

" – she isn't my – "

Adric rolled his eyes. " _Oh please_. Now do let me continue. Where was I?"

"You've had worse moments...?" suggested Cullen, eager for the conversation to shift from that of his and Evangeline's relationship.

"Ah yes. How much has our dear trouble-maker told you about me?"

"That you're a very competent Templar, you've given the Order two and a half years of your life and that you've been a very good friend to her when she needed it."

Adric snorted. "Well. That's kinder than I'd expected. Has she told you about my sexual preferences?"

Cullen swallowed. "Your...uh... _what_ , sorry?"

Adric slowed his pronunciation down – as if addressing a young child. He took trouble to enunciate each syllable. "My...sexual...preferences."

"Uh...no. She might have left that out."

The storm bellowed in the midst of sheets of rain. Lighting tore towards the ground, casting eerie flashes of intense light into the cave. The dog, ill at ease as the weather intensified, started whining. Adric moved nearer to the creature and started stroking it. The human contact seemed to have reassured it somewhat, as it settled down and placed its head in Adric's lap. Adric fondled its ears absently.

"I prefer the company of men." Adric leaned his weary head against the rocky wall behind him. "Born that way. Didn't choose it. Not that it should be a crime either way, but that's the way the cookie crumbles. My father caught me cavorting with the gardener's son when I was thirteen. We weren't doing anything...untoward. Just stealing a kiss." Adric ran a hand across his fatigued countenance. "So, it was ' _off to the Templars with you_ ,' as if my being amongst dozens of other athletic, attractive young men could suppress adolescent urges. But that's how he pegged me down, you see. With the shame of it. My interest in boys was a disgrace. He was ashamed, Mother was ashamed...the way you heard him tell it, our entire family tree – the deceased included – were writhing around in agony with the humiliation of it all."

"I'm...sorry," was all Cullen could offer.

"I don't know why on earth _you've_ become my confessional. But...on second thought," he got up, stretched out and snatched the flask of brandy at Cullen's side. He screwed open its cap and took a large swig. He sat back down. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he went on. "Oh, _fuck_ the bloody migraine. See what I mean? Sometimes you have these _terrible_ moments that make you want to swipe the drink from another poor soul's hands."

"I had no idea..." began Cullen. "Did you love your friend? The one your father caught you with?"

Adric let out a dry chuckle. "No. It was the infatuation of youth." And then he looked away. "That's not to say that I didn't love...anyone."

"Who did you care for, then?"

Adric took another gulp of brandy. "I'm assuming we're on mums-the-word-that's-our-motto territory, correct?"

" _What?_ "

"Secrets, my man! _Secrets!_ " he rolled his eyes. "I solemnly swear and all that sort of thing."

"Of course. You have my word."

"Now what was the question? _Who did I care for?_ I believe the more applicable question would be – who _do_ I care for. A mage, as a matter of fact. Who also happens to occupy the same residence that your Evangeline and I do."

"Oh."

"Quite." Adric pointed at the flask. "Do you want any more of this?"

Cullen shook his head and gestured for him to help himself. Adric drained the canteen's contents in one go. "Warms that cockles of my heart – that does. So yes. The mage. Who I will refrain from referring to as _the mage_ , because he's so much more than that. His name is Peter, is a year my junior and is quite the expert when it comes to deciphering dwarven runes. He also does this funny little thing with his nose when he's deep in thought, but let's not go into that."

"Does he...know? About how you feel about him, I mean?"

Adric's usual effusive self grew silent. Cullen indulged him. Finally, Adric glanced up from his reverie and grinned. "So you're _him_ , eh?"

"What?"

"The one she talks about. Or rather, _doesn't_ talk about."

"I don't know..."

"Pumping a best friend for information is a duty I take seriously. Now, I know there's Alec – "

Cullen instinctively held up his hand. "Stroud? Alec Stroud? She and him...?"

Adric crinkled his brow. "You know the chap? Well, I hope you're not fast friends with him because he's not really a good fit for her. Personally, I think they're too much alike. But Evie does as Evie likes, and both of us can attest to that. And yes, I suppose they are together." And on seeing Cullen's face fall, Adric placed a hand on his chest in mock surprise. "So you _do_ care for her."

"No, no! I mean I do, but only as a friend."

"Methinks you doth protest too much. And so did she, in fact! I once asked her if anyone else caught her eye and she shut up – quick as a clam. Do you know how difficult it can be sometimes to get her to stop talking? Oh, and one day I caught her looking at that stuffed bear she carries everywhere with the most lovesick grin on her face. She told me her sister gave it to her. But I knew. I knew that no _relative_ of hers gave her that bear. And if they did, she and I would have to have a solid sit-down and discuss the pitfalls of inbreeding."

Cullen looked down at Evangeline. Her eyes remained closed and she was slumbering quite peacefully. Fatigued as he was, he felt the warm stirrings of hope within him. He resisted the impulse to brush a loose strand of hair from her face.

"Why are you telling me this?" asked Cullen.

"Because I know. Because I know what it feels like to long for someone and have every rule in the book tell you that you can't. That they're off limits. I'm restrained not only by the law that Templars and Mages can never be friends, let alone lovers...but also by my gender. Everyone looks the other way if I want to have a casual fling, but when I crave something more _meaningful_ – that's when the word pariah tends to get bandied about. Wouldn't life be so much easier if we liked the people we were _supposed_ to like? Maker, this brandy really _has_ gone to my head, hasn't it?"

"What happened with Peter?" questioned Cullen softly.

"Ah. Peter. Peter was made tranquil. I'm not quite sure why. No one ever tells you _why_. I suspect that it could have been because of me, but I was never reprimanded, never censured. But the Peter I knew... _before_ , that Peter loved me as much as I did him. And for the short time that it lasted, it was beautiful. When I lost Peter – well, I needn't tell you how _that_ felt."

"Why didn't you leave the Templars?"

"Because of him, of course. He's still there. Continuing in dreary monotony, but at least I can watch over him. And then that idiot of a friend came along," Adric gestured at Evangeline. "Woke me up a bit. Got me to stop feeling so sorry for myself. Also nearly got me killed today."

Cullen observed Adric with a newfound sensitivity. "You stayed behind – because of him? That's very...commendable."

"Oh, I can't take all the credit for that. There was a soupçon of guilt involved." Adric's voice tapered into a quiet murmur – barely audible against the downpour outside. "And I suppose, I must love him still. Or maybe it's hope. Hope that he'll suddenly remember what love felt like, remember me. _Us_."

Cullen sat there, his emotions at odds with one another. He'd always taken his Templar duties seriously. When he joined the Order, its doctrines were imparted in absolute blacks and whites. Here's what you could do. And here's what you couldn't. There were no shades of grey, no wishy-washy maybes for a distracted student to traipse into. It was acceptable at the beginning. But as they matured and grew exposed to the grim sensibilities that encompassed life, use of that doctrine seemed antiquated, even absurd at times. The very least the Order could do was to acknowledge such discrepancies and perhaps even counsel their fledglings. But obedience superseded morals. So it was in the past, and so it would be in the future.

Cullen had no words of sympathy or sage advice to disclose. But he was immensely disconcerted by the pain Adric had exposed. It was clear that the man disguised it with a strength Cullen himself didn't think he could pull off.

"I don't know what to say," was the best he could come up with.

"I didn't pour my heart out to you for sympathy's sake." Adric grunted. "Give me more credit than that. Consider it a life lesson from a bitter young man who'll most likely end up growing up into a bitter old one. _Look_. Your path and Evangeline's have crossed not once, but twice, in this lifetime. Don't sit around waiting for a hat trick. She clearly adores you as much as you do her. It's rather nauseating, in fact. So for pity's sake, _tell the girl_. Oh, and if you're _not_ the chap who gave her that bear, just forget my advice and pretend that this conversation never happened."

* * *

Knight Commander Gregoir pushed open the hefty doors to the Harrowing Chamber and paused momentarily to catch his breath. For a man over five scores in age, he was athletic, but climbing five flights of winding stairs was no trivial task – even for him.

A few servants and some of the surviving mages were scrubbing the floors, pillars and walls of what once was a commanding and imposing hall. Mages who were prepared to officially join the ranks of the Circle of Magi faced one final test here, and they did not call it the Harrowing for whimsicality's sake. They had to journey into the Fade, and avoid becoming abominations while defeating demons who hungered after their mortal souls. The chamber's architecture was deliberately grim, anything light and airy would defeat its purpose.

But what Uldred, or the _thing_ that was Uldred, had done to this place had reduced it to unhallowed proportions. Darkened bloodstains had seeped into some of the tiles. Servants were using strong combinations of acidic concoctions to leech it out. Residual ash – the mages speculated that these were the destroyed remnants of Fade spirits – had to be swept up and discarded of properly. Fleshy, bulbous sacks still hung at the base of certain pillars.

Gregoir's shoulders sagged. There was a reason he had left this hall to be fixed up last.

A mage approached one of the sacks and tentatively poked at it with a stick. It yielded slightly. She then poked it harder, which broke a portion of its surface and caused a sickly, yellow fluid to ooze out. The discharge must have been pungent as well, because the mage immediately stepped back as she groaned and wrinkled her nose in distaste.

"Uh...let's not poke and prod that which we know so little about yet, yes?" said Gregoir.

"I wish I'd taken your advice earlier," agreed the mage. "How to best go about getting rid of it though?"

"What does First Enchanter Irving have to say about it?

"I didn't want to trouble him. He's having a hard enough time trying to return what's left of us back to normalcy."

Ten-foot poles were certainly out of the question, realized Gregoir. "I say burn it. A localized fire should turn it to ash. The heat might take care of any contaminants as well."

The mage nodded.

The sound of running feet behind them echoed against the walls of the circular chamber.

"Commander," called out one of the surviving Templars, "I have some of today's reports ready. Sorry about them being late, I – " The Templar, not having ventured into the Harrowing Chamber following Uldred's demonic vandalism, began to gag at the sight of it all.

"Perhaps we'd better take this to my office." recommended Gregoir as he placed a deliberate hand on the young man's back and guided him down the stairs and out of the room.

* * *

"Any better?" asked a seemingly unaffected Gregoir as he pushed the bucket to a darkened corner of his office with his foot.

The young man straightened up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I...yes. Thank you."

"There was a reason I kept most of the Templars out of that chamber, Cal. At least until we could get it cleaned up."

"I see that now, Ser. My apologies."

"So what was so important that made you want to break one of my rules?"

"I didn't deliberately break it, Ser. I just...forgot. Anyway, Cullen and two of Biedrin's Templars returned just this morning." explained Cal.

Gregoir rose from his seat, and moved so as to lean against his desk. He folded his arms across his chest. "Is that so. And what of my hound?"

"Cullen brought it back. It's in the kennels as we speak. He said that he needed to borrow the dog to track down the other Templars."

"What for?"

"Said they were both in great danger and needed to be warned."

Gregoir snorted. "It's a runaway blood mage. Of course they were in danger. But they're both competent Templars. Biedrin wouldn't send them here if he didn't think so."

"He also said that if they'd waited until morning, the two could have died."

"And do you believe him?"

"I...think so, Ser – yes. One of them, the girl, she came in unconscious and wounded. The other one's got a nasty cut on his head. They're in the infirmary now."

"And Cullen?"

"Got there in the nick of time, Ser."

"I mean – _physically_. Is he okay, any wounds, bruises?"

"Not that I could see, Ser."

Gregoir looked away; distracted. "Fine. Fine. You said you had other reports to discuss?"

"Just the usual. Damage and progress reports on some of the infrastructure repairs."

"Leave them on my desk. I'll take a gander later. Dismissed."

Cal turned for a split second before walking out. "Uh...I know it's not my place, Ser, but Cullen – I think he's been through a lot in the last few weeks. Never was much of a talker, but he always went out of his way to make me feel welcome when I first joined. Had a kind word for a lot of us here. A lot of that's gone in him. He's gotten kind of, well, _broody_. Past few days though – he's been a bit perkier. Today as well – although he's a bit pale. Seems to want something to do, I think. To keep him occupied."

"Are you telling me I don't know how to look after my own Templars?" questioned Gregoir, lowering his brows.

"Not at all, Ser. Just something to think about, I suppose."

* * *

" _Sharlto drew the back of his hardened and calloused hand across his weary brow. His piercing blue eyes began to shimmer like the surface of the Waking Sea on a mild summer's day, as tears welled-up inside them. He had arrived too late to save the poor soul before him. So much death and destruction. First his family and now his friends._

_How much more was the Maker going to make him endure? He had picked up a sword – much like Andraste had done centuries ago – to avenge his kin. His vengeance complete, he had laid his sword to rest again and took up his former duties in the Chantry. And now, in a cruel twist of fate, death had once again begun to seek him out. First Horus. Now Ghen. They had known one another for how long? Two decades, at least. Sharlto drew his hand against his weary brow once more._

' _Sharlto?" said a sultry feminine voice behind him._

_He turned to see Philomena's voluptuous silhouette in the light of the doorway. Her immaculate, golden tresses fell to her curved hips. Maker preserve him, for as she drawled out his name, he could envision her sensuous lips moving with every incantation of every syllable therein. He could sense her tongue –_

Oh, for pity's sake – who the _hell_ writes this drivel?" cried Cullen as he slammed the book shut and examined the back jacket in irritation. "Varric Tethras? Well, you won't be selling many more books in the future, my friend. At least not to me."

"There's a sequel," came a quiet voice from the bed in front of him. " _Chantry Priests III: Days of Judgment_. I'm going to have to ask Elena to mail that one to me."

Cullen put the book down and smiled. "If I had known that reading this tripe to you out loud would have woken you up..."

"It's not tripe!" Evangeline said in mock outrage. "Just wait till you get to page ninety-five. That's when Sharlto meets Burkel, the dwarf-giant. Which technically doesn't make him a dwarf any longer... But anyway, Sharlto makes an Andrastian out of him and then falls into a love triangle with this Elven archer. It breaks Philomena's heart and – "

"I trust you're feeling better?" asked an amused Cullen.

"Did Adric put you up to this?"

"What – the reading? No. This was of my own making. Although if Sharlto has to wipe his weary brow one more time..."

Evangeline reached out her hand to him. A little at a loss at what to do, Cullen hesitated before placing his own in hers. She squeezed it gently. "Adric told me what happened. I owe you both my life. You mostly, I suppose. And I certainly don't deserve friends like you both."

His eyes ran over her face – she was considerably pale, her lips were cracked and dry. He got up and brought her some water. He helped heave her up gently so that she could drink it.

He sat back down as she spoke. "I'm sorry. About what I did earlier. And...if you feel the need to yell at me, I shall take it like a champ. Heaven knows I deserve it." she said.

As he stared at her, he felt a warmth well up in his chest. She had always been so matter-of-fact about things. Her readily accepting the blame where blame was due only served to make him proud. "I was going to – before. When I found out what you'd done. But Adric beat me to it. He deserved that opportunity – after all, he's the one with the welt on his head. I don't have a scratch on me."

"When I woke up earlier, I saw him standing over me with his arms crossed. He smiled, asked me if I was doing better and then kissed me on the forehead. I thanked him and _boy_ , you should have seen him go. The transition from friend-Adric to demon-Adric was rather jarring. He's got a tongue like a whip once you let him roar. Not that I didn't _deserve_ any of it, but he can make a murderer cringe if he's got a mind to."

Cullen chuckled.

"So you didn't tell Gregoir? About the Lyrium?" asked Evangeline.

He shook his head. "Not unless you keep refraining from taking it. No need to get expelled from this place for one bad decision."

"But Adric could have died!"

"Yes," admitted Cullen, "he could have. But he didn't. And maybe, this way, you'll be less reckless. Maybe you'll grow up a bit. Besides, Adric likes having this hold over you." He smiled wryly. And then, on a more serious note, "I do have to ask you though...why _did_ you stop taking it?"

She bit her lip. "I think, no, I _know_ I'm impulsive. I also tend to get hooked onto things far too easily. My joining the Templars wasn't entirely my decision. At least, in the beginning it wasn't. And I suppose not taking the lyrium was a ridiculous act of rebellion. I didn't wish to be wholly leashed to the Order. Things have changed now. I'm starting to think that maybe I could be more here. As a Templar."

Cullen said nothing.

Evangeline looked guiltily up at him. "So...uh...whose decision was it? Ultimately? To not tell Gregoir?"

"I wanted Adric to decide, initially. But he said it was up to us both. We discussed it and this is what it came down to."

"Thank you again. I owe you both, well...everything. I'll do better." She drew an invisible x on her chest with her index finger. "Cross my sheepish little heart."

Before he realized what he was doing, he took her hand in his and kissed it. As he bent over her hand, the scent of him – fresh, and clean and...something elusive – infiltrated her senses. This close, she noticed the bronze stubble on his cheek, the lopsided smirk as he drew away, the amber tinge in his eyes. Evangeline felt more attentive to another aspect of him and its existence seemed to exceed the bounds of friendship.

At this realization, her face turned beet red. Her reaction seemed to both surprise and please Cullen greatly. So much, in fact, that he picked up the book beside him, raised amused brows for her benefit and turned to the page that he'd left off.

" _He could sense her tongue moisten her parched lips as she spoke. He could smell her perfume_..."

As Cullen read on, she closed her eyes and coloured even more. She even made a weak attempt to suppress a smile.

_Huh. Maybe Adric was right after all._

* * *

**One Week Later**

Cullen raised the longsword – which glittered in the afternoon sun – and struck at the wooden dummy with all his might. The wood creaked but didn't splinter. He massaged his weakened biceps. Several weeks of very little physical activity were taking its toll. And if his strong arm had grown sluggish, what then of the rest of him?

Putting the longsword aside, he lifted his white shirt up to his chest. He placed a concerned hand on his abdomen. Did...his stomach look a little paunchy? He sucked in his gut and let it relax. _Oh dear Maker, yes. Quite possibly_.

"Concerned about our appearance, are we?" said Gregoir.

Cullen started and dropped the flap of his shirt back into place.

Gregoir grinned. "Nice work rescuing Biedrin's Templars."

"Uh...I...thank you."

"Of course I know that the story you told our young Calahan was all rubbish."

Cullen fumbled. Adric was the superior storyteller. Cullen couldn't lie if his life depended on it. Which was probably why Gregoir was here; catching him off-guard on his lonesome. Whatever tale the masterful Adric had weaved for Gregoir could never contest Cullen's equivalent. But how was he to protect Evangeline's massive blunder? A half-truth then, realized Cullen. Surely he could accomplish that.

Gregoir stepped closer to the wooden dummy and squinted at it. "Not even a dent on it," he murmured.

All efforts at concealment temporarily forgotten, Cullen moved forward to defend his work. He pointed at a gash along the counterfeit's upper right shoulder. "I did though. Right there."

"That's the grain of the wood, Rutherford."

"I...yes, Ser." Cullen's shoulders slumped.

"I know why you went out there last night." stated Gregoir.

Okay. Deep breath. Here goes. "Yes, Ser, and I – "

"You want some action. Sitting around here doing nothing reminds you of what happened. Menial labour isn't going to cut it for you, is it?"

He deliberated in silence for a few shocked seconds. Perhaps he wouldn't have to lie after all. _Take it!_ cried a panicked voice within. "Yes, Ser. That's exactly it."

"You tried to tell me yesterday. I should have listened then."

A beat.

Gregoir put his hands on his hips. "Come with me."

* * *

Evangeline was the last to enter Gregoir's study. As she walked in, the Knight-Commander was in the process of lighting a second wall sconce. Adric and Cullen turned as she pushed the door open. Gregoir blew out a match and took the familiar place of leaning against his desk. He handed all three of them a leather-bound stack of vellum.

Adric sifted through its pages. "A report, Ser?"

"A collection of, Adric." Gregoir folded his arms across his chest. "Collated material from a series of reports on Darkspawn. Their weaknesses, hierarchy, weapons of choice. Best we start learning what we can now."

"Templars and demon-slaying – quite possible. Templars and archdemons – not a chance in hell." commented Adric.

Gregoir grunted in contempt. "You _do_ think highly of yourself, don't you? I'm not asking you three to go out and stop a Blight."

"What are you asking us to do?" queried Cullen.

"Some of the villagers from Shepard's Crossing have sighted Darkspawn on the outskirts. They've got precious few guardsmen and no Grey Warden in sight. If their stories are accurate, we're not looking at a horde. Possibly a small group. I want the three of you to head out and make some inquiries. Now," Gregoir scratched his temple, "no heroics from any of you. The village is about a three-day march from here. You get wounded, break a rib, get stabbed in the gut – " he cast a sharp eye on Evangeline – "the best you're going to get is the village healer. And that's not going to be much. You're going to help the villagers should they need it, but if this help includes stopping a swarm of Darkspawn, you're to pull back."

"You want us to _abandon_ them?" asked Cullen.

Gregoir scowled. "I'm not _abandoning_ anyone. I'm sending you there, aren't I? To be perfectly honest, this was bottom-of-the-pile. Chances are that the good people of Shepard's Crossing would have had to fend for themselves.

"But let's get one thing clear. You three are _not_ a rescue crew. If I wanted to send in the like, I'd have chosen some of my more...weathered men. Or what's left of them. I need to know if a rescue is necessary. Shepard's Crossing is about a day's journey north from the nearest, fortified town. And they're certainly not going to spare the men to defend a small number of their isolated countrymen. Especially on account of some vague reports."

Evangeline chewed on her lip. "Okay. So supposing there's a horde. Then what?"

"You travel north to Brunswick. You alert their guard to deal with the issue and then make your way back here. Think you three are up to it or should I return this situation to its original position?"

"Absolutely not," said Cullen. "If you can spare us, then we'll go."

"Uh...there might be a small problem there," ventured Adric.

They all directed their attention towards him.

"Your First Enchanter needs my help questioning some of the recaptured mages. It could take a few weeks, is what he said." Adric shrugged and held his hands up helplessly.

Gregoir massaged the bridge of his nose. What was it that Irving had said to him when the debacle with Uldred was over? _I'm sure we'll be at each throats in no time_. Well. Best to avoid that then.

"Fine." He supposed that one less shouldn't make too much a difference. This was more or less a scouting assignment after all. He assessed Evangeline with narrowed eyes. "How're your injuries?"

"Uh...much better." She glanced sideways at Adric, more concerned with his uncharacteristic reluctance to accompany her. He didn't meet her eyes.

"Fine." said a weary Gregoir. "Read those reports tonight. And I mean, _read_ , not skim. One detail about your enemy could make all the difference. I want you both on your way by tomorrow morning. Now if you'll excuse me, I have several more pressing matters to attend to. And shut the door behind you."

* * *

Cullen lay on his bed, hands folded across his chest. Utterly awake, he gazed up at the ceiling at nothing in particular. For the first time in a long while, he longed for sleep. But how could he? The thought of spending three days, alone...with _her_. He was both exhilarated and petrified. Three days. _Maker_. A lot could happen in three days. And then there was the journey back.

For the time being, all nightmares of past events ceased to make way for new – albeit significantly more pleasant – anxieties. He was sure they would return, but this anticipation, it felt... _good_.

_Are you happy, then? To have time with her? Alone?_

He supposed he was.

_But what would that mean? For the Templars, your future?_

He didn't know.

A voice in the darkness nearly jolted him out of bed. "You're welcome."

"Adric!" cried Cullen as he shot upright.

"This is the part where you say, _thank you, Adric, for being so considerate_. _Your care for my well-being humbles me._ "

"What did you...oh," recognition dawned on him. " _Andraste have mercy_. Irving doesn't need your help. You set me up."

"Correction: I set the both of you up. And it was only a half-truth. Irving didn't need my help then, but he does now. As I've so kindly volunteered."

Cullen grew flustered and ran a hand through his blond hair. "What have you done? What am I supposed to do? Three days! Alone for three days..."

"Well, at the rate _you_ were going, our minds would have succumbed to geriatric decay. I swear, you _do_ need a good poking and prodding on occasion, don't you?"

But Cullen had stopped listening. Longing her from afar was one thing. This was an entirely novel concept altogether. His hands had begun to perspire. What if she disliked his company? He was certainly not Stroud. He lacked that charisma, that masculine pull.

"Andraste's knickers!" said Adric; annoyed. "Experiencing a wax build-up in your ears, Templar?

"I...what?"

"I said – _she's as nervous as you are!_ "

"I fail to see how that makes anything better," remarked Cullen.

"Dear Maker." And then, Adric reached out and slapped the side of Cullen's head. "You idiot! What has she got to be nervous about, eh? _Think!_ "

"Three days. Alone?" ventured Cullen meekly.

"Stop repeating that! If she didn't have any feelings for you, you _infernal primate_ , what would she have to be nervous about?"

"I...oh. _Oh_." His heartbeat slowed. Now curious, "Exactly how nervous?"

"She's been asking me to steal some whiskey for her from the kitchen." replied Adric. "And then she keeps asking about how _you're_ dealing with this new development. I feel like I'm passing notes in school."

Cullen laughed and lay his head back down against the pillow. He could feel his muscles gradually uncoil.

The next few days would prove interesting, there was no doubt about it.


End file.
